


Beauty and the Geek

by RebeccaKay27



Category: Figure Skating RPF
Genre: F/M, figure skating rpf - Freeform, ice dance rpf - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-08
Updated: 2015-08-19
Packaged: 2018-02-16 14:41:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 28,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2273565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RebeccaKay27/pseuds/RebeccaKay27
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Meryl Davis always smelled of wintergreen and fresh perfume, and Charlie White thought it was because all of her friends smoked too much and she hated the way the odor would linger on everything. She might have been a rebel, but she was an picky one at that.</p><p>Meryl Davis, with her chipped black nail polish, inch thick eyeliner, skirts too short, and cropped leather jacket.  She could work a room with her dangerous hips, ice-cold stare, and the way she’d pop her gum tantalizingly slowly.</p><p>It was pathetic how much he wanted her.</p><p>** Warning: Lots of Smut Ahead **</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Meryl Davis always smelled of wintergreen and fresh perfume, and Charlie White thought it was because all of her friends smoked too much and she hated the way the odor would linger on everything. She might have been a rebel, but she was an picky one at that.

 

Meryl Davis, with her chipped black nail polish, inch thick eyeliner, skirts too short, and cropped leather jacket.  She could work a room with her dangerous hips, ice-cold stare, and the way she’d pop her gum tantalizingly slowly. It was pathetic how much he wanted her.

 

But he only ever got to touch her at practice.

 

He tried cold showers, ice packs, masturbating profusely, imagining her in hockey gear, extra tight boxer briefs, but one whiff of her vanilla hair, and he was back in the shower, head pressed against the tile as he palmed himself over and over again.

 

She would walk into practice five minutes late, another speeding ticket in hand, and lace up her skates with expert fingers. He would clear his throat, trying to come up with something to witty to say, but she’d just grab his hand and they’d stroke around the ice. Her expression fierce, fearless, and free.

 

Sometimes when he’d take her into dance hold, she’d play with the curls at the nape of his neck. She’d bite her lip hard enough to make it turn cherry red and work her fingers slowly up his chest, teasing him just because she knew she could.

 

They’d been skating together for a decade, but she was still an enigma.

 

He knew that she knew he wanted her.

 

She may have been a rebel, but she was never _cruel_. Sure she’d tease him, make him breathless, and leave him strung-out wanting more—but she never embarrassed him. She could have pointed out the countless hard-ons she’d given him in practice, but she’d never drawn attention to it. She could have scoffed at him when he still gave her a card for nearly every holiday, but she thanked him and never said another word about it. She could have left ice dance and become a top single’s skater, leaving him all alone in the dust of her wake, but she held onto their partnership instead.

 

He didn’t know if what they, had even qualified as friendship, but in his head, Charlie White tried to paint it out to be just that, even though people like her never gave people like him the time of day.

 

He had a mop of curly hair with frosted tips, he had glasses to correct his imperfect vision, he had a closet full of khakis and a dresser full of polos, he had good grades, he had violin lessons, and he had loving parents.

 

But he didn’t have her.

 

Just remnants of the way she smelled, and the ghost of her fingertips on his skin, and that intense way she looked at him during competitions. The look that made him feel like he actually mattered.

 

But somehow, even if they weren’t friends, and even if they were polar opposites of the spectrum, they started to be _really_ good. Like, world medal contender good. They were still at the junior level, but it was a shoe-in that they would medal as long as they could stay on their feet.

 

He was surety and power, she was sultry and passionate, and together they worked the ice in a way no one else could. The way he wanted her, and the way she could manipulate those emotions played out flawlessly in their programs. They were emotional skaters. They were complex skaters. They were complicated skaters.

 

Meryl Davis was the complicated part.

 

She strolled into the rink afterschool on a Tuesday, twirling her gum around her finger and he felt guilty for the way he felt when he saw her in her skinny jeans. Her hair fell in waves around her shoulders, and he hoped she wouldn’t put it up to skate. He was already warming up by the time she had changed and met him on ice, scantily clad in a royal purple skate dress.

 

She looked like an ice princess at competitions, but at practice, she looked like a modern-day Carmen. Seductive, mysterious, and always elusive, that was Meryl in a nutshell.

 

He was wearing sweat pants and a white t-shirt so worn it had small holes at the hem.

 

She pushed her hair out of her face and something seemed _off_ when she took his hand and led him around the rink. “How are you?” he asked, trying to be polite and make conversation in the few moments they had before their coach would show up and start commanding their every move.

 

“Fine,” she growled with a fire in her eyes.

 

“You sure?” he didn’t mean to be annoying, but she was far angrier than usual, and the idea of lifting her up and twirling her in the air while she was like that seemed _dangerous_ —and not in a good way.

 

Meryl sighed, pushing more of her hair from her face. “I’ll be fine. I’m just… not doing too hot at school right now, and I have to get my grades up before the season gets into full swing.”

 

“I can help!” Charlie stopped them, lighting up like a Christmas tree, and running his thumb over her knuckles in an intimate way he never had before. To be honest, he usually did his best to touch her as little as possible, but he knew that if her grades weren’t up to par, her parents would pull her from skating. If she was pulled from skating, she’d be pulled from him, and whatever teetering partnership they had.

 

“No Chuck, it’ll be alright,” she tried to pull away and continue skating, but he tugged her arm back.

 

“Let me help you,” he plead, searching her eyes for some small shred of hope. Maybe if she accepted his offer, he could further disillusion himself in the belief they were friends.

 

“Alright,” she agreed, and they began skating once again, “but I don’t take charity. What do you want in return?”

 

The possibilities streamed through his head in a loop somewhat akin to the adult film he had snuck into his family’s den and watched on the computer a month ago. He blushed a deep crimson.

 

“None of that, White,” she teased, knocking him in the shoulder.

 

She knew. She had to know.

 

“How about you help me study for an hour after practice the rest of this week—and in return, I will take you to a party on Friday?” she offered, her tongue darting out to wet her bottom lip. He knew it wasn’t meant to be directed at him, but he couldn’t help the way she made him feel.

 

“Deal,” he smiled, causing his eyes to crinkle in the way that even _she_ could find endearing.

 

They were cut from different cloth, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t go well together.

 

He was dynamite at helping her with AP French and US History. In just a few short days, she had turned in all of her homework on time and had actually known some of the answers on a pop quiz.

 

She began to laugh at his jokes.

 

Charlie loved to hear her laugh _with_ him instead of _at_ him.

 

She treated him like a real person.

 

He knew that if they went to the same school, it probably would be a different story. She’d ignore him in the hallways, leave him to sit with her “cooler” friends, do everything to keep up the icy persona that she prided herself on so much. But when they only saw each other at the rink, competition weekends, and forced family functions, he could imagine a world where she actually _saw_ him instead of _through_ him.

 

No one really gave him the time of day, but that was okay. He knew he was a dork, and he was probably always going to be a dork. He liked science-fiction novels more than he liked school activities. He liked his violin more than he liked All-American sports like football. He liked hanging out with his parents more than he liked making friends. He liked ironing the pleats of his khakis on Saturday nights more than the idea of getting wasted. Okay, that last one wasn’t necessarily true, but it was a necessity, and he had to find _some_ time to do it.

 

Her jet black car rolled into his driveway on Friday night at 8:30, and she quickly jumped out, surveying him with a bemused expression. “Please tell me you own pants that you _don’t_ iron.”

 

He scratched his head nervously, looking down at the loafers on his feet, “Yeah, I mean, I have a pair of jeans or two?”

 

She quickly made her way up to his porch, tugging at his shirt and pants trying to adjust them in a way that would make them more acceptable to her. She tsked and tutted, tapping her finger against her lips, “Alright Chuck, we’ve got some work to do.”

 

“You know you can call me Charlie, right?” he laughed nervously.

 

“I know I can Chuck, but we’ve got bigger fish to fry. Come on,” she grabbed his hand and flung his front door open like she owned it. She called out a quick hello to his parents as she climbed the steps to his room two-at-a-time causing him to survey far too much of the ivory skin of her legs.

 

But who could blame him? Her jean shorts didn’t cover much.

 

She turned the handle to his room, shoved him in, and then closed the door behind them. How did she know where his room was?

 

Meryl took in his curious expression, “Oh come on, I’ve been here a few dozen times at least, and I knew for a fact that your room wasn’t on the first floor. Then, as soon as we got up those stairs, I saw the ‘Please knock.’ sign taped so neatly on the door. Two words that dripped hormonal teenage boy.” As she continued to speak, she began flipping through his closet.

 

He cringed, what if she found his underwear drawer? Was she going to make him change _those_ too?

 

She tossed a pair of dark-wash jeans his way, his only pair that weren’t carpenter cut. “Those are almost acceptable,” she tossed over her shoulder at him. She pawed through the shirts in the closet, but didn’t find anything she was particularly fond of. “Chuck, if you’re going to be seen with me, you cannot be in a polo or a button-up that looks like it comes from your dad’s closet. This is not a mathelete convention.”

 

He shrugged, guilty as charged.

 

“You do own some t-shirts, right?” she asked, turning around to face him with hands that rested on her hips. He got up off the bed and showed her to his dresser, opening the bottom drawer where all of his t-shirts were meticulously folded.

 

She tore through them like a banshee, and he didn’t even care.

 

She was in his room.

 

_Fuck- she was IN his room!_

 

She was the only girl that had ever been in his room, except for his mom. Oh, and his sisters. Well, and maybe his grandmother. In her cropped, black band t-shirt and shorts with a hem that tormented him—she was in his room.

 

How many times had he imagined her tangled in these sheets?

 

Up against that door frame?

 

On the carpet she was kneeling down on?

 

Meryl Davis was _kneeling_ on _his_ carpet.

 

“This one’s not so-“ she held up a t-shirt, but was cut-off when she went to look at him and saw the way he was looking at her. He was stripping her with his eyes, and if she liked one thing it was attention. Especially _his_ attention.

 

She liked his calloused hands, and his straight teeth, and his genuine smile. And though there was no way she could date him, or have too much of a friendship with him, that didn’t mean she wasn’t allowed to be kind of _fond_ of him.

 

They had basically grown up together.

 

Charlie could remember before she religiously painted her nails black. He could remember before her hair was chestnut brown and so very pullable. He could remember when she wore pink skate dresses, and put her hair in a proper bun, and did community service with her church.

 

He couldn’t pin-point when it had changed, but he wouldn’t complain.

 

He liked that she was so wild.

 

“Sorry,” she cleared her throat, standing up in a way he thought girls only did in music videos, all slow-hips and thrusting ass.

 

No, he absolutely could not think of anything to do with _thrusting_ right now.

 

“Here, this one will be okay,” she spoke, tossing him a blue U-of-M shirt he’d only recently gotten.

 

“Okay, I’ll go change,” he went to get up, but she took a few steps toward him and pushed him back on the bed before he had his footing.

 

“What are we, like five?” she questioned, towering over him, from his propped-up vantage point on the bed.

 

Was he awake—or was this all a dream?

 

If it was, he didn’t want to wake.

 

It was taking every ounce of courage and strength he had no to get hard right now. She wanted him to change? Here?

 

He coughed nervously, gripping the hem of his polo and dragging it up slowly.

 

She appraised his every move.

 

He didn’t meet her eyes as he brought it over his head, tossing it across the room towards the direction of the hamper.

 

She nodded her approval, a gesture he caught that made him swell up with pride. He might not be a ‘real’ athlete in some people’s eyes, but he took pride in the way he maintained himself.

 

He went to put on the other shirt, but she stopped him suddenly, straddling his lap and running her open palm down his chest. He was going to get a boner and she was going to run away from him.

 

His face was strained to the brink of physical pain as she felt her way across his shoulders and down his biceps. “What’s wrong?” she asked, dangerously close to his ear. Her breath was warm and _hot_ , and he wasn’t talking about _degrees._

 

She expected him to form thoughts into words right now?

 

“Uhm- you, and I- and what?” he asked, fumbling nervously to try and put together a sentence.

 

She giggled, “Is this okay?”

 

She fucking _giggled_.

 

“No- I mean, yes, I mean sure,” his brow furrowed as he tried to grip at sanity.

 

Those fingers of hers moved to his hair, digging their way into his curls, and wrapping around his neck.

 

A girl was touching him.

 

 _The_ girl was touching him.

 

He was going to die and he was only 16 years old.

 

He couldn’t even drive a car yet.

 

She could drive. She was driving him wild.

 

“Chuck, have you ever be-“ she started, but he cut her off.

 

“My name is Charlie,” he plead with sincerity, grasping her wrists tightly in his hands.

 

If his words hadn’t been so gentle and sincere, the grip he had on her might have been almost _authoritative._ Charlie White was almost stepping up to the plate.

 

“ _Charlie_ ,” she breathed, catching the lobe of his ear between her teeth and tugging at it gently. Was that her _tongue_? Is that what her tongue _felt_ like?

 

He barely registered the fact that her phone vibrated in her back pocket, but she pulled it out quickly and jumped off of him, “Fuck Charlie, we’re going to be late. Hurry up!” she tossed some of his shirts back in his drawer as he threw the shirt she’d deemed adequate on over his head.

 

He paused at the button of his pants, catching her eyes carefully trained on his hands. “Need help?” she smirked.

 

“Are you offering?” he countered so quickly, he wanted to high-five himself. He deserved points for that. It was almost smooth!

 

She walked over, small hands popping the button of his pants, and working the zipper down.

 

He wasn’t going to die at 16, he was already dead.

 

Heaven was _way_ more awesome than the stories they tell you at church.

 

“Shimmy,” she commanded, and he followed her orders as she helped him work his pants off. She crouched down on the floor to pick them up, and the way her eyes looked as she stood back up, all wide and on-fire made him melt. “Charlie, you’re moving too slow, hustle!”

 

She was using his name.

 

His real name.

 

Fridays were always his favorite day of the week- but because of her, now they’d forever be _sacred._

 

Meryl Davis had _taken him to church_.

 

Once he was dressed, she yanked his glasses off, folding them and placing them gently on top his dresser. She looked him up and down, “Not too shabby. Put on your tennis shoes, not those Dad slippers you usually wear.”

 

He complied.

 

He would move mountains if she asked him too.

 

“By George, I think I’ve done it!” she exclaimed, moving him around so she could check him out at every angle.

 

“I think the quote is actually, ‘By George, I think she’s-“ Charlie tried to suggest.

 

“Charlie, I know the quote. I was just changing it up a little. Lighten up, _Sir_ ,” she swatted at him playfully.

 

She found her purse across the room, flung it back across her body, and pulled out her lip gloss, reapplying in his bedroom mirror. Her lips looked so good, he wanted to taste them so badly.

 

She could read his expression from a mile away.

 

“Time to go!” she hustled past him and out his bedroom door, doing everything she could not to touch him. She was setting him on edge, and she wanted to make sure she made an appearance at the party.

 

\----

 

As soon as they entered the packed house, Meryl handed him a cup of offensive liquid. He choked it down, trying to cover up the way he’d grimace and squint with every mouthful.

 

She laughed at him through the saturated air, bodies packed together so tightly Meryl was pressed flush against his chest.

 

His eyes darted around the crowd, trying fruitlessly to blend in and feel like he belonged. He swayed right to the left like a clock, ticking to the music. It was a rap song, but he didn’t know how to move to this kind of beat. The speakers blared as he tried to figure out the exact differences between hip-hop dancing and his favorite kind of dance, the yankee polka.

 

He thought that was probably the biggest mark of a true nerd; the ability to dance the polka so easily, but not knowing what to do when a girl was grinding on you.

 

There were so many things he had never thought about before today. Things like- what do you do during a car ride with a girl, especially when the need to breech the center console and grab her hand is so palpable?

 

What do you do when your ice dance partner actually takes you out and shows you off like she claims you?

 

What do you do when vodka, or gin, or rum, or whatever this _gross stuff_ was began to burn your throat?

 

What do you do when the one thing you need more than anything is right in front of you, grinding on you like you’re more a pole than a person?

 

He made a decision.

 

He grabbed her hip fiercely with his open hand, smirking at her over the rim of his red glass. She looked taken aback, and he loved that he could still surprise her. In abstract, they knew each other’s bodies so well. In reality though, it was so odd to be touching off the ice. _He liked it._

 

A few of her friends had finally noticed them, pulling her every which way to get information on just who the _new guy_ was. Little did they know he was actually the _old guy_ , they’d just never seen him before.

 

Some of them had the gall to send him suggestive looks, _as if_ he had eyes for anyone by Meryl. He kept his hand possessively on her hip as they made small talk, dropping names he’d never heard and telling bits of stories he’d never heard. His fingers curled dangerously underneath the hem of her tank, and he saw her bite back a small moan.

 

Could he affect her way she did him?

 

His head was beginning to swim, alcohol finally beginning to rob him of his good sense and self-control. Her cup was long empty, and he took the last swig of his.

 

“Want another?” she spoke loudly over the music, craning herself up closer to his ear.

 

“Yeah, sure,” Charlie tried to break through the crowd and make a path for her to follow him to the kitchen.

 

It was like a temporary reprieve, a moment where their skin didn’t touch, slightly slick with the sweat of hot bodies pushed together. A moment where he wasn’t forced to look at her, her eyes afire and her face as alive as he’d ever seen it.

 

She liked the attention of having someone that no one knew on her arm.

 

He didn’t mind being her stand-in.

 

There were only a few people in the kitchen, and she jumped up on the counter, pouring them a new set of drinks. “Having fun?” she teased him, coyly, wrapping a finger around his beltloop and pulling him between her legs.

 

“It’s not so bad,” he smiled, fighting the impulse to pull away from her. In a packed room, the intimacy didn’t feel as odd, but with only a few people around, it seemed like every eye was on them, trying to figure out the relationship between the two.

 

Most of Meryl’s friends didn’t even know she was a figure skater.

 

Charlie didn’t have that many friends.

 

They were complete anomalies to everyone.

 

Meryl’s finger was still toying with his belt loop. He was beginning to wonder if he was drunk off the alcohol or her touch.

 

“It’s getting hot, let’s take a walk,” she suggested, jumping off the counter and pulling on the front of his shirt. They made their way out to the back porch where Charlie noticed multiple couples making out on deck chairs and against the siding of the house.

 

Meryl took a seat on the warm grass, staring off into the expanse at some undiscernible point. Charlie sat down next to her, making sure to keep a couple of inches distance between them. It was only a few inches, but he hoped it would protect her much like a moat. Charlie was the wild knight who wanted to storm her keep, and Meryl was the castle with thick walls and armed turrets.

 

The mixture in his glass made his brain fog, and the stars swim in the sky, and it was a beautiful fall evening in Michigan, and he was alone with Meryl on a Friday night and she looked like something out of a fairytale.

 

Not that he was into fairytales. Well, at least not the _girly_ kind.

 

“So,” Meryl cleared her throat, “I was thinking that maybe you could keep helping me with my grades. Just to make sure we can skate and all.” Her composure was as cool as always, compared to just how handsy she’d been inside the house.

 

In the dark, underneath the stars, they both felt far more vulnerable than they wanted to admit.

 

“I could do that,” he nodded in agreement, pulling his knees even closer to his body.

 

Her legs were spread out in front of her, and he watched intently as she un-crossed and re-crossed her legs. They looked so _smooth_.

 

“You know Charlie, tonight has been almost fun,” she laughed, cutting the tension in half.

 

“Almost?” he laughed with her.

 

“Okay, you’re not so bad,” she admitted, knocking their shoulders together.

 

Did she feel the same spark he did?

 

He asked her a question completely out of the blue, but it was the first thing that popped into his head, “Meryl, who’s your best friend?”

 

She looked at him incredulously, tucking a piece of her dark hair behind her ear. She stalled, biting her lip, “I guess I don’t really have one.”

 

“Me either,” he admitted, sheepishly. He was trying to convey to her that she was not alone, that he was there, and he would do anything she wanted if only she asked.

 

“Okay, you got to ask a question, so it’s my turn!” Meryl wiped the grass off her hands, straightening her back, and he was preparing for her to ask him some deeply profound question his fuzzy mind wouldn’t quite comprehend. “Why do you skate?”

 

“For you,” he rattled off without thinking. “I mean, uhm, because it’s fun, and you’re cool, and _fuck_ …”

 

“What a filthy mouth you have there, Mr. White,” she laughed at him, throwing her head back and letting it echo into the wind.

 

“You have no idea,” he growled, his voice suddenly low and raspy and _suggestive_.

 

And _where the hell_ had that come from?

 

A beat passed.

 

And her mouth found his.

 

And his hand found her face.

 

And her hands found his neck.

 

And his tongue found hers.

 

And he was only 16, but he was sure that he was dead- because he had the girl of his dreams, that unattainable rebel with a wild streak and a zest for life, and if only for just one night, she was in _his_ arms, and there was no ice anywhere to be seen.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING- This chapter is VERY smutty, proceed with caution.
> 
> From here on out this story operates under a few VERY AU conditions:  
> Charlie doesn't do singles, or play hockey.  
> Meryl and Charlie start training with Marina much earlier.  
> Tanith and Ben left Arctic Edge much earlier.

“So, Charlie, what kind of porn do you watch?” Meryl asked, skating over to him and taking his hand in hers. It was the beginning of an early, Monday morning practice, and Charlie obviously hadn’t come ready to play the game.

 

“ _W-what?_ ” he sputtered, struggling just to stay upright on his skates.

 

Meryl tugged at his hand, doing her best to drag him across the ice. “Warm up laps, Charlie; the longer you trip over your skates, the longer we’ll be at this.”

 

“No, I _get_ the warm up,” he tried to correct her.

 

“Then why are you asking?” she smirked knowingly.

 

They began to pick up speed, and finally, he was leading her as usual. He decided just to ignore her initial question and instead, focus on putting one foot in front of the other.

_Muscle memory. Don’t think. Just skate._

 

“Charlie, I’m not going to ask you again…” Meryl’s seductive tone brought him out of his zone.

 

“I don’t – I don’t watch…” he shook his head, swallowing.  “I would never…” Charlie trailed off as he struggled to maintain his composure.

 

It was 5:45 AM, what was she doing asking him about _porn_?

_What the hell kind of porn did **she** watch?_

 

Charlie’s sweatpants suddenly felt a hell of a lot tighter.

 

“Meryl, please.  This isn’t the way to start the week,” he stopped, pleading with his eyes for her to give him a bit of reprieve, or at least until he was awake enough to not read too far into her questions.

 

“But _Charlie_ , I have to _knooow_ ,” she cooed, gripping his hand tighter, and pouting at him with her cherry-red lips.

 

He knew what those lips tasted like, and it was _heaven_.

 

He had been thinking about it since the moment she had dropped him off at his front door on Friday; buzzed from the booze, buzzed from the intoxicating feeling of her kisses, and buzzing with the anticipation of all that _hadn’t_ happened. He had taken a record total of five cold showers since then.

 

One of those, mind you, was during the middle of Sunday lunch when his mom mentioned he and Meryl needed to go in for a fitting on Wednesday. Charlie hadn’t even excused himself; just dropped his fork, shoved his chair away from the table, and semi-ran up the stairs to his bathroom. Had Big Charlie given him a subtle head nod as he had gotten up or had he only imagined it?

 

“Two more laps,” he responded instead, tugging on Meryl’s hand and dragging her back into their pre-practice routine.

 

“But… I’ve been thinking about it all weekend, and I still can’t imagine,” she growled under her breath, begrudgingly following his lead.

 

“Wait -- you _what?_ ” he gritted, seeing their coaches making their way onto the ice, ready to begin practice.

 

“I know you heard me,” she smiled sweetly, twirling away from him and towards Marina. “Good morning, Marina!” she beamed.

 

“Morning,” Marina greeted. “No trouble this weekend?”

 

“Nothing I got caught for,” Meryl smiled, shooting Charlie a wink over her shoulder.

 

Charlie skidded to a stop in front of their coach, ready to begin the day.

 

It was going to be a long one.

 

\----- 

 

Meryl approached him the second he emerged from the locker room, his book bag flung across his shoulder, and jacket zipped securely over his favorite blue polo. “So,” she said brightly, stepping alongside him as they headed towards the doors. “I called your mom and told her I could drop you off on my way to school, and she said that was great, because she was running a little behind today!” Meryl grinned at him, her eyes taking on what almost looked like an evil glint.

 

Charlie had thought he was free of her until after school.

_Damnit, Jacqui._

 

“Wow.  How _kind_ of you,” he groaned, knowing the only reason she’d volunteered for this particular task was because he had yet to answer her question, which had been two-and-a-half hours of somewhat intense grilling on her part, and constant avoidance on his.

 

Charlie opened the front door of the rink for her and she sauntered through, paying him no mind.

 

“Sooo…?” she asked, pausing to look at him from across the top of the car.

 

“ _Yes?_ ” Charlie threw her some sass, hands on his hips and all.

 

“C’mon, Charlie, I’m _gonna_ find out one way or the other, so you might as well just tell me.”  She unlocked the car.

 

He gently placed his bag into the backseat of her car, and sat down carefully in the front seat, making sure he didn’t scuff his shoes. He hated scuff marks on his shoes.

 

She shoved her bag towards his feet and flung herself into the car. Turning the engine on rather viciously, he looked out the corner of his eye to see her fuming through the thick cloud of her loosely-curled hair.

 

“Seriously, Charlie, I’m not gonna be able to pay attention in school if I don’t know, and you know I can’t afford to do any worse than I am,” she changed tactics, trying to guilt him into an answer.  She pouted at him again.

 

“I don’t watch porn!” he defended, voice breaking on the last word.

 

She immediately started chuckling.  “Oh, my God.  You totally gave yourself away there. I _know_ when your voice breaks, it means that I’m getting closer to the truth,” she grinned, gripping the wheel with both hands. Her nails were a freshly painted black, and he could only imagine her small hand wrapped around his…

 

“Charlie, why the hell are you staring at me like I’m going to just rip my clothes off, or something?” she broke him out of his thoughts and brought him back to reality.

 

“Well, maybe you were,” he tried his hand at a joke, but instead of smiling at the end, he grimaced, instead.

 

“So… what if I was?” she quirked an eyebrow, stopping roughly at a red light. Meryl reached over and grabbed his leg, slowly running her hand up his thigh.

 

“Okay, okay, _okay_ , I give,” he acquiesced, shooing her hand off of him. She retreated to her side of the car with a satisfied smirk, her fingers drumming against the steering wheel. “I guess, I like to watch girls… uhm…” he swallowed, hard.

_Do people really talk about this stuff?_

_Why did she want to know?_

 

“Yes, _girls_ , I’ve got that part,” she prompted, pulling into his school’s parking lot.

 

He practically wrenched his backpack out of the backseat as she stopped the car.

 

“IguessIliketowatchgirlstouchingthemselves,” he quickly spat out, the words garbled altogether as he jumped out of Meryl’s car. “OK, thanks for the ride, bye!” he shouted, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose, and retreating into the safety of his school.

_Well, if that wasn’t the weirdest conversation of his entire life._

_\-----_

By the time he reached third period, he already had three texts from Meryl. Luckily, he only heard his phone vibrate and light up in-between classes, because, like the good student he was, Charlie kept his phone right where it belonged during school hours:  in his locker.

 

During lunch though, unable to help himself, he took a quick peek.

 

Four texts and two picture messages, all from Meryl.

_Oh God, this can’t be good._

 

He dashed into the bathroom, retreating to the furthest stall and closing himself in. He didn’t want anyone to see the reaction that Meryl brought out in him. _Nobody_ needed to know about his double-life with his skating partner, who just happened to be a smoking hot sex goddess.

_Wait, what had he just thought about Meryl?_

 

He fingers fumbled to open his inbox, sweaty palms causing him to almost drop the phone.

**Meryl: So, girls touching themselves?**

 

Two minutes later she had continued.

**Meryl: That’s kinda hot.**

_Hot? Him?_

**Meryl: I underestimated you, Charlie.**

 

He smiled. _Damn right she had!_

**Meryl: How do you like them to touch themselves?**

 

And then there were two picture messages. Did he even dare? His head began to feel a bit woozy, and he could feel a fresh bead of sweat drip down his neck.

_Why was she doing this to him?_

 

It wasn’t as if his crush on her hadn’t been apparent for quite some time, so why was she so interested in every little detail _now_?

 

It wasn’t as if they’d been building up to this. He had just been lucky enough to become her study partner, then she had offered to take him to that party, and they’d drunkenly made out for a while. He hadn’t even pawed her like the crazed animal he was.

 

He had _wanted_ to, though.

 

He sat down on the commode, his head in his hands.

 

What if the pictures were… _nudes?_

_Fuck, naked,_ he thought, angrily.

_Nude_ was the color of the tights his mom wore, but _naked_ was how he wanted Meryl Elizabeth Davis. Mostly in his dreams, of course, because he was afraid that in reality, he’d get too scared and chicken out, or end up having an asthma attack, or maybe he would just break down into tears of unsurmountable joy, unable to finish the job.

 

Lunch wasn’t going to last forever:  he needed to come up with a plan of attack.

**Charlie: Do I even dare opening those picture texts?**

 

He typed, hoping he could gauge from her response the level of _butt ass naked_ she could be in them. Almost instantly, the phone vibrated in his hand.

**Meryl: You’ll never know until you try.**

**Charlie: Cryptic, much?**

**Meryl: Pansy, much?**

_Okay,_ _that was it._

 

Charlie White was a figure skater, Charlie White wore makeup on the weekends, Charlie White could tell a rhinestone from a gem, but Charlie White was definitely _not_ a pansy.

 

He opened up the picture message folder.  The first picture was a close up of Meryl, biting her lip and toying with the neckline of her shirt.

_See, you can do this,_ he thought, encouragingly, committing the photo to memory.

 

The second picture was of Meryl, without a top, cupping herself through her bra. The caption read “Like this?”

 

He wasn’t going to make it through the school day.

 

\-----

 

Thirty minutes later, Jacqui arrived to pick her son up from school. The nurse had called and told her that Charlie had fallen ill, and that he was visibly clammy and seemed skittish.

 

Charlie knew it was blue balls.

 

But, well.  He wasn’t going to tell his mother that.

 

“Do you need to go to the doctor?” she asked kindly, taking the familiar route home.

 

“Um, I don’t think so,” he responded, feeling guilty for having left school before gathering his homework from all of his teachers. “I, uh, think it’s one of those one or two day-kinda things. I should be fine; I just need some rest.”

 

“Were you okay during your morning practice?” Jacqui questioned, curious as to when exactly he had fallen ill.

_If by okay, she meant in extreme physical and mental agony, then, sure._

 

“Yeah,” Charlie said instead. “Uh, it was pretty sudden. I started feeling crummy around lunch time,” he grabbed for his stomach, over-acting, like he’d contracted food poisoning or something. In reality, he hadn’t touched a morsel of food since breakfast.

 

“Well, I’ll make sure to call the rink and tell them you won’t be at your afternoon workout. Do you think you can text Meryl to tell her you won’t be there?” she reached over, the back of her hand resting on his forehead, checking for any signs of temperature.

 

“Can you do that? I’m… feeling really dizzy,” Charlie groaned lightly, trying to appeal to his mother’s sympathy.

 

“Now _honestly_ , Charles White, Jr., you are _almost_ an adult, and you can contact your partner on your own,” Jacqui chided him lightly, pulling into the driveway.  “You’re not too sick to talk to me, so you can certainly talk to her.”

 

When she had stopped the car, she grabbed his backpack and carried it into the house as he drug his feet behind her.

 

“Go up to bed and rest, and I’ll come and check on you in an hour or so,” Jacqui smiled at him as he slowly made his way up the staircase. “And, don’t forget to call Meryl!”

**Charlie: Went home sick. You’re on your own this afternoon, partner.**

 

He shot the text off as quickly as he could, pulling off his loafers and then his khakis, before climbing into bed.

**Meryl: U okay?**

He wasn’t even tired, but it felt good to be ensconced in the cool protection of his sheets.

**Charlie: Yeah. Needed some rest.**

 

He was a liar.  A big, fat liar.

**Meryl: Or to jerk off?  U be the judge.**

 

Why was Meryl so set on trying to kill him?  Plus she knew how much he hated it when she didn’t type out the full words.

_He’d show her!_

**Charlie: I am perfectly fine at doing that, thanks.**

 

He hadn’t bet on her quick wit.

**Meryl: I bet I’mbetter.**

_God_ , she knew how to push all of the right buttons.

 

Now, he wasn’t going to be falling asleep any time soon.

 

\-----

 

Charlie felt the slight rustle of his sheets as he slowly woke up from his Monday afternoon nap. He sighed, knowing that one of the White family’s two cats had to be the culprit. They didn’t often sleep with him, but had been known to jump on his bed and try to coax him into waking up to play with them, usually on the weekends or if he tried to catch an early-evening nap once in a while.

 

His eyes still closed, he reached out to grab for the cat, ready for a late afternoon struggle. But instead, he hand found purchase on a bony object, covered with smooth skin.

_A scapula? Shit. Shoulder._

 

His entire body froze and his eyes instantly shot open.

 

What was _she_ doing in his bed?

 

His eyes looked over in the direction of his hand, which was still resting on her shoulder.

_How was she still asleep after he had grabbed her? Was he still dreaming? Was he caught in some alternate universe full of wish-fulfillment and magic?_

 

Meryl looked so peaceful. He tried to calm his now-rapidly beating heart and stay still enough that she wouldn’t rouse from her sleep. He slowly slid his hand back towards himself, making sure not to bump or brush her along the way.

 

Charlie tried to memorize this moment: the exact length of her eyelashes, the small freckles that dotted her cheeks, the slight pout she made, as dreams he couldn’t see played behind her eyes. She looked like the Meryl he had known as a child, a far cry from the hardened, world-weary version that had since taken her place.

 

After a few minutes had passed, Meryl’s eyes slowly fluttered open, as she let out a contented yawn. He thought for a split-second about trying to pretend like he was asleep, but she made eye contact with him before he had a chance act on it.

 

“Good morning, handsome,” she spoke softly, a small smile playing across her face.

 

She was gorgeous when her walls were down, Charlie thought.

 

He couldn’t formulate words in response, so she reached across to him, pressing lightly on his jaw to close his mouth.

 

He hadn’t realized it was open, in awe.

 

She was beginning to wake up more, and he could see her withdrawing into herself, the easy, natural smile fading, being replaced with the smirk she normally wore in public. Still beautiful, but not as real.

 

He sat straight up, suddenly realizing that he wasn’t wearing any pants. Charlie peeked under the blankets, remembering that he still had on his favorite boxers, worn at the edges, faded in color, and missing the front button.

 

“I saw the khakis you were wearing earlier, on the floor,” Meryl stretched, causing the black tank top she was wearing to ride up and reveal the delicious jut of her hip bones, and a sliver of pale, creamy skin. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep,” she yawned, propping herself on her elbow.

 

He mirrored her position, “Then, if this isn’t a dream, and you’re really here, why are you in my bed?”

 

She snorted, “You think this is a dream, Chuck?” She paused for a moment, a mischievous look in her eyes. “So if this is a dream, what happens next?”

 

“Well then this _can’t_ be a dream, because if it _was_ a dream, you wouldn’t ask me what would come next,” he replied smugly.

_Shit, this really was happening._

 

Meryl rolled her eyes. “Why did I come over here, again?”

 

“I don’t know -- why _did_ you come over here?” he asked, you know, _for science_.

 

“Ugh.  God, you’re a _lot_ less annoying in your sleep,” she pushed on his shoulder as a joke, but instead, knocked him clear off the bed. “Oh shit!” she cried out, trying to scramble over the side to help him.

 

Charlie immediately crossed his hands over his _lower regions_ trying to block himself from view.

 

His first time in bed with a girl, like, really, _in bed,_ and he had fallen out.

_How embarrassing._

 

Plus, his junk was about three seconds from coming out to play.

 

She immediately started laughing when she saw his horrified expression. She reached out a hand to help him, but he shook his head frantically. “I’m fine,” Charlie croaked.

 

Meryl turned away, still laughing under her breath, to let him get back into the bed and under the covers with a bit of discretion.

 

“So what happened to your button?” she asked, after he had settled in again, turning back to look at him.

 

“My button?” he questioned, confused as to what she was referring to.

 

Then he remembered.

 

“Oh fuck, the _button_ ,” Charlie wheezed.  _She had been looking at his boxers._

 

Meryl bit hard on her bottom lip, nodding in approval, her eyes intent on his face, then his lips.

 

“Um, I – uh, I don’t remember?” he gulped hard on the spit over-forming in his mouth. He was probably going to start foaming soon like a wild dog.

 

He needed help.

 

“Charlie, are you going to be… okay?” Meryl asked. He was sure she could hear his heart pounding like a bass drum, echoing loudly in his modestly-sized bedroom.

 

“Ye- yeah,” he stuttered, clutching onto the blue sheets of his bed like a lifeline.

 

Meryl got up onto her knees, looking him dead in the eye. “How about if I do this?” she quickly pulled her shirt off over her head, which left her with only a plain black bra and a jean skirt, that honestly, barely served as a mere scrap of fabric.

 

He was afraid to let his gaze leave her eyes, lest he embarrass himself even more.

 

She reached behind her back, then, unclasping her bra and pulling the straps off her shoulders until she had exposed her breasts.

_Real life boobs!_

 

Unable to help himself, Charlie snuck a peek downward, noting the gentle swell of her small breasts; the dusty rose color of her nipples.

 

Dusty rose was the color blush he used for skate competitions.

 

He was getting a boner.

 

“Can I keep going?” she asked, almost tentatively, breaking him out of his reverie.  He forced his eyes back up to meet hers.

 

“If- um, only if you want,” he was trying to play the gentleman when, in his head, he was screaming.

_Skirt next, skirt faster, take off the stupid skirt!_

 

She toyed with the button, “Are you sure?”

 

He caught the devilish gleam in her eye as he nodded, focused on the work her delicate fingers were doing while playing with the milky skin of her stomach.

 

He wanted to reach out and touch her but he didn’t want her to stop, either.

 

The second her button popped open, he was terrified he’d already finished on his sheets.

 

With a quick glance down, he luckily realized he was still ready to go.

 

He could do this.

 

She shook the fabric down over her hips, and it took all Charlie had to not jump her right then, and drive her down into the mattress with reckless abandon.

 

And he had thought he’d be too terrified if it ever came to this.

 

He had underestimated himself.

 

She balanced carefully on the bed, tugging the skirt off of her legs until it joined the pile of her clothes now discarded on his floor.

 

The idea of her bra and his khakis mixing harmoniously on the floor made him even harder.

 

“What next?” she teased, playing with the lace band of her thong.

 

Was he supposed to formulate words? He looked down at his knuckles, white as they gripped the sheet trying to restrain the view of his excitement.

 

She reached over and tried to tug off the black frames of his glasses. “But then I can’t see you!” he almost shouted, realizing he was in his bedroom, and his mom was somewhere downstairs, and he needed to shut up before she marched in to ask him what was wrong.

 

Meryl gave the glasses back, shushing him with a small chuckle, “Fair point. And don’t worry, I locked the door when I got here.”

 

She winked.

 

He died.

_Not really_ , but he _felt_ like he had as soon as she laid down, tugging at the small scrap of cloth that served as her underwear, and tossing it somewhere across the room.

 

She was so tiny, and his bed seemed so big, and he was sure he was going to burst a blood vessel or something else as equally vital.

 

He openly stared at the creamy skin of her inner thighs before shifting his gaze upwards and noting only the small triangle of hair marking the doors to _Heaven itself_.

 

She was real, and she was human, and she was _naked_ , and she was sprawled upon his bed like every teenage boy’s daydream.

 

Her hands started to travel deliciously over her stomach, stopping every once in a while to luxuriate on certain spots.

 

“Is _this_ what you like to watch, Charlie?” she purred, palming her exposed breasts and lightly twisting a nipple. She moaned at her own touch. He loved the way she said his name, he loved the sounds she made, and he loved the way she hadn’t closed her eyes. She liked to watch him watch.

 

His mouth had become so dry he didn’t know if speech was possible. “Yes,” he managed.

_Good job, Charlie._

 

This was so much better than the stuff he watched on his dad’s computer.

 

“Don’t you think I should get to watch you, too?” Meryl provoked him, a hand grazing up her thigh.

 

“Watch me… Oh! You want that?” he spoke, eloquently.

 

“Please?”

 

That’s all he needed to hear.

 

“Wait, do I have to take off my shirt?” he asked, suddenly self-conscious.

 

“Please?”

 

Yes, that truly was the magic word.

 

He let go of his grip on the blankets, pulling his polo over his head and running his hands insecurely down his chest. He nibbled on his lip lightly before slowly pushing his bed sheet to the side, and revealing the raging hard-on he’d been trying so hard to conceal.

 

At that point, the worn boxers didn’t even cover anything, so he pulled them off quickly without even thinking about it.

 

“Oh my God, Charlie!” Meryl breathed, and he could instantly tell she was impressed.

_Thank God for small miracles._

_Or, medium-large miracles._

 

Was he supposed to touch himself first, or let her start, or..? He wasn’t sure how this worked.

 

Did other platonic ice dance partners do this with each other?

 

He decided he’d think about that later, because she slowly spread apart her legs and began to play with her folds. When he saw the wetness that had developed there, he was mentally patting himself on the back.

_Good job, Champ!_

 

It was like his summer of little league all over again.

 

“Do I…?” he asked, motioning to his hardness, not knowing what she wanted him to do.

 

She dipped a finger inside herself, and when her head dipped back just a bit, he didn’t wait for her response, clutching himself by the base and slowly tugging, not wanting this to be over too quickly.

 

“That’s it, Charlie,” she whimpered, alternating between playing with her clit and dipping her tantalizing fingers inside.

 

Charlie watched as Meryl palmed her breasts, reveling in the much-needed pressure.

 

“Charlie, I’m not going to last very long,” she bit out, her voice breathy and her pulse obviously quickening.

 

“I’m not either,” he responded honestly, already beginning to feel that tell-tale buildup in his stomach.

 

“Good. Talk to me, Charlie,” Meryl prompted him, a blush running up her skin and illuminating her entire body.

 

“God Meryl, you’re so fucking hot,” he said the first thing that came to his mind and she smiled that seductive smile of hers, obviously enjoying his response. “I want you so fucking bad, Meryl. I want to… I want to…” he broke off, not catching himself before his own hot, sticky fluid was coating his hand and stomach. “Fuck,” he sighed.

 

“I’m _almost there_ , Charlie. Please, don’t stop talking,” her eyes caught his and he no longer felt embarrassed. She wanted this as much as he did, and he could see that vulnerability in her eyes. He knew it wouldn’t last long.

 

“Use another finger.”  She followed his command.  “Imagine it’s me playing with you. Imagine those are my hands all over you. Imagine the way I’d kiss you. Imagine how good it would feel…” He didn’t know where all of this was coming from, but apparently he’d watched enough porn to know what to say. Or, maybe he was just a natural when it came to Meryl. Maybe it was _her_ who helped make him like this.

 

She circled her clit one last time, meeting his eyes before they squeezed shut and her head fell back as she bucked her hips in release. He loved the way she chanted his name as she came back down to Earth.

_Charlie… Oh God, Charlie… Holy fuck… Charlie…_

 

They laid there for a moment, her eyes coming back open, and they just looked at each other before they both realized what a mess they’d made on the bed.

 

Neither of them had a look of regret.

 

“I’m gonna go freshen up!” She was the first to break the spell under which they’d been under.  “Here,” she said in a chipper tone, as she got up quickly, and grabbed his shorts and khakis, tossing them at him.  Charlie stood up, turning his back to her as he quickly used his shorts to clean himself and pulled his khakis up without putting the shorts back on.  He wasn’t able to turn back around until he had his pants fully-buttoned and the zipper firmly locked in place.

 

They were hopelessly wrinkled, but it was better than the alternative.

 

“Hey, Charlie?” Meryl asked, after she’d come back from the bathroom, lounging back onto the pillows of his bed, arms behind her head.

 

“Yes?” he prompted, sitting down in his desk chair, a safe distance away from _her_.

 

“You don’t seem too _sick_ to me,” she quirked an eyebrow, a satisfied smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

_Love sick, maybe._

_Shit, he was in **so** deep._

 

“I am,” he tried his best to cough, but it came out sounding like a cheap imitation.

 

“Yeah, I didn’t think so.” Meryl got off the bed and grabbed for his hand, dragging him out the bedroom door, “How about you help me conjugate my verbs for French, while I school you in Mario Kart?”

 

He had never been so thankful for the distraction of verbs in his entire life.

_There truly was a God._


	3. Chapter 3

Charlie nervously waited near the curb outside of school, endlessly shifting his weight from foot to foot. For the last decade, he had dreaded each and every wardrobe fitting. It never ceased to amaze him how _unnecessary_ the sheer amount of costumes they had to purchase was; not to mention the awful color combinations, fabric textures, and beading their seamstress could work into a single garment, let alone a half-dozen of them.

 

Wardrobe fittings for Charlie were always about choosing the least of all the evils, getting out as quickly as he possibly could, and bracing himself for the inevitable comments his friends would make about whatever monstrosities he’d spend the season competing in.

 

Charlie liked the color black.

 

It looked good on the ice. It stood out against all of the white.

 

His mother, and Meryl’s mother, however, liked things to _sparkle_.

 

He was just thankful that he didn’t have to wear any awkward ruffles.  _Most_ of the time.  That was a choice he’d made years ago, when his mother told him he could choose ruffles or rhinestones.  Rhinestones, it was.  He decided he would rather shine on the ice than look like a pirate.

 

Added to the regular anxieties of their first fitting of the season, he and Meryl had yet to talk about what was happening between the two of them. _Something_ was going on, and he knew it facilitated a talk.

 

Charlie, who, at times, couldn’t put two sentences together around her, would have to find a way to get _Meryl_ to talk.

 

Charlie knew that he would ask Meryl out if she’d let him. Hell, he’d probably make an _undying oath_ to her if she would let him, even though, being only sixteen, that would be absolutely stupid thing to do.

 

Honestly, Charlie wished he could quantify their relationship. He wished there was a mathematical equation he could use, to calculate the gravitational pull bringing them together. He wished that he could calculate the terminal velocity it would take to get to her, and the centrifugal force it would take to tear her out of _her_ world and into _his_.

 

He wished he could draw her out, like a diagram, and find answers to all the questions that had never quite made sense.

 

He wished she was like a math proof, where he could start with the answer and work his way back until he could figure her out at the source.

 

He wished she was like his violin, where if he practiced hard enough, she could make her sing in a way that was only for him.

 

(Well, if Monday was any indication, he _might_ be able to have that one.)

 

Meryl was guarded, though. Meryl kept her emotions very close. Meryl didn’t live by the same rules or principles that Charlie did. However, he knew, deep down, that a part of her was still the young girl that had matched up _perfectly_ with him, from the start. 

 

Their relationship became more complicated and complex with every year.  And this year, it was more complicated than ever.

 

Charlie might have been able to resist her if she wasn’t so funny, and talented, and beautiful, and entertaining, and different, and wild, and… just so _Meryl_.  But for the first time in his life, he was trying to do his best to _not_ worry about all of the possibilities of things that could go wrong, but instead to focus on the _here and now._

 

(And what God-awful pieces of fabrics the Moms would force on him this year.)

 

Meryl’s car skidded to the corner then, narrowly missing the curb and three students Charlie recognized from his AP Chemistry lab.

 

She honked twice before rolling down the window and shouting out to him, “You coming, Chuck, or am I gonna have to find _another_ boy who likes to wear _velour_?”

 

Meryl giggled as he practically yanked the door off its hinges, and tried to duck into her car as quickly as possible. “Was that _really_ necessary?” he squeaked, hunching further down in the seat.

 

“You _tryin’_ to hide me, Charlie?” she quirked a brow and drummed her nails against the steering wheel, still idling in the school drive.

 

“Of course not,” he gritted, tossing his bag into the back seat, “I just don’t think the _entire_ school needs to know about my _ice dancing_.”

 

“God, Charlie, there’s only a handful of people around,” she laughed. “Besides, don’t you think everyone knowing you’re a professional _sportsman_ could earn you some street cred?”

 

“OK, maybe if I played _hockey_ ,” Charlie grumbled, but still managed to smile, despite himself. His teammates wouldn’t be quite as pretty if he played hockey.

 

Meryl pulled away from the curb, honking at the boys she’d almost run over and giving them a hearty wave.

 

 _Why_ had he let Meryl pick him up, again?

 

 _Oh yes, because Meryl got everything that she wanted and she had insisted on driving_. When it came to what she wanted, Charlie White couldn’t seem to say no.

 

\-----

 

The late afternoon sunlight filtered in through the blinds in their seamstress’s studio, as Charlie eyed the rack of costumes with a sigh of relief.  All of Charlie’s costumes for that season were primarily black: even his _free dance_ costume, save for one gemmed shoulder.

 

He just _knew_ this was going to be his year.

 

“How’s it going in there?” Jacqui called out from behind the door, as Charlie did up the buttons on his first shirt of the fitting.

 

“Just working on some tricky buttons,” he replied, trying to buy himself some time.

 

He heard a slight rustling outside the door before Meryl popped in suddenly.

 

“What are you doing?” he hissed, a little too loudly, as he tried to shield his bare chest from her.

 

Meryl snorted. “Charlie, please.  I’ve seen you naked.”

 

He rolled his eyes, but his hands lingered nervously at the hem of his shirt, his fingers clutching the buttons desperately. 

 

“I came to help,” she continued, cheekily.

 

Cutting the distance between them, she reached up, her tiny hands pushing his aside, and painstakingly began the process of buttoning his shirt.

 

She reasoned with him quietly: “I told them if this happened at a competition, it would need to be me who would have to help you.”

 

Charlie glanced down at her, feeling blood rushing up to his cheeks, as she looked up at him through impossibly-long eyelashes. He wanted to kiss her so badly, but he didn’t know the rules yet.

 

Was he _allowed_ to kiss her?

 

Did she have to make the first move?

 

Did the _intention_ of the kiss factor into if it was okay or not?

 

Luckily, before he could get too far into his thoughts, Meryl tapped his chest lightly. “There! All done!” she chirped.

 

Charlie stalked out of the room, towards a large mirror, where Cheryl and Jacqui began their usual process of appraising the fit of the costume, checking the hems, the arm lengths, the pull of the fabric across his shoulders.  He felt like a human Ken doll every time they went through it. The last few years had been particularly difficult, as Charlie had been growing like a weed, constantly needing his pants let out, and his sleeves lengthened.  For a while, the moms had given up hope and just let him skate in extremely un-fitted costumes, than trying to constantly alter his costumes every month.

 

Apparently, his growth spurt had ended, as this one seemed to fit just perfectly.

 

“I love the sheen,” Cheryl swooned, stroking the fabric on his arm.

 

“Oh, I love the gems!  They’re going to look _beautiful_ on the ice,” Jacqui added.

 

Charlie groaned loudly. “ _Ugh_.  Can I put the next one on yet?”

 

“Charles Allen, you _know_ you’ve got to wait until we see Meryl’s costume next to yours!” Jacqui chided, clicking her teeth.

 

“ _Meryl_ , how long does it really take you to put a dress on?” Charlie whined, stalking back towards the closed dressing room door.

 

“Longer than it takes you to put on a shirt and pants!” Meryl shouted.

 

“Do you need any help, sweetie?” Cheryl asked.

 

There was an unintelligible grumble from the other side of the door.

 

Cheryl laughed lightly, glancing over at Jacqui.  “Maybe we should go ahead and send in Grumpy Gus,” she smiled, her gaze shifting to where Charlie was standing off to the side, his arms crossed.  Charlie supposed that meant him.

 

 _But… the moms wouldn’t encourage that, would they?_ After all, he was a growing teenage boy, with _hormones_ and such.

 

“You heard her,” Jacqui said, motioning at the door.  She took a seat next to Cheryl in one of the hideously upholstered chairs on the other side of the room.

 

“Sacrificial lamb,” Charlie muttered under his breath, ducking into the dressing room and closing the door.

 

Charlie turned around, and then stumbled back against the door, in shock. “Holy _shit_ , Meryl,” he hissed under his breath.

 

She had apparently not bothered to put anything on yet.

 

“Watch your language,” she scolded in mock disgust.  He saw the smirk lingering at the corner of her mouth.  _What the hell was she doing?_

 

Meanwhile, Charlie could hear the moms chatting animatedly outside the door, about sequin colors, or something equally mind-boggling.

 

He remained flush with the door, refusing to move. “Meryl,” he whispered, his breath shaky.  “Our moms are _right outside_.”  He spoke as quietly as he could, motioning towards the door.

 

“Come here,” she mouthed, beckoning him with a finger.

 

“No,” he mouthed in reply.

 

She gave him that ‘ _how dare you defy me_ ’ look that he’d so often seen his mother give his father, and he _knew_ he was in for trouble.

 

Sheepishly, he took a few steps closer to her. With each step, it seemed as though her smile grew wider and wider.

 

She grabbed his collar and shoved him to his knees.

 

“Is everything okay in there?” Cheryl called from outside the door.

 

“Everything’s fine, Mom. The zipper is so small, we’re having trouble getting it all the way up without snagging or ripping anything,” Meryl shouted in return.

 

“Do you need me to come in and help?” Cheryl responded.

 

Charlie shook his head frantically, swallowing quickly. Meryl found words: “Nope, it’ll be just a second.”

 

Charlie didn’t know what to do. If they opened the door right now, they’d find a naked Meryl with him at her feet. There was only one term he could use to describe the current situation and that was _a compromising position_.

 

She looked at him, considering everything for a brief second, before hastily grabbing her costume and quickly pulling it up. “Sorry,” she mouthed at him as he got off his knees and stood up to help her. He helped zip it up, noting that the zipper was actually quite _easy_ to secure.

 

Before he had time think about it, he placed an open-mouth kiss on the back of her neck. “There, it’s perfect,” he murmured into her ear.

 

He felt a shiver run down her spine before she quickly retreated out the room.

 

“Meryl, you’ve got goosebumps!” Cheryl chuckled as the moms appraised the dress.

 

“Maybe Charlie’s hands were too cold,” Jacqui teased, unknowingly.

 

“It _is_ a little chilly in here,” Cheryl continued on, unaware of the exchange that had just occurred between their children in the dressing room, seconds earlier.

 

Charlie leaned up against the doorframe, appraising Meryl in the mirror. She looked beautiful in red, he thought. Red always made her eyes pop, and her skin look flawless, and Charlie realized he was actually having _an actual opinion on colors_. This was the kind of affect Meryl had on him.

 

“Well, come over here, Charlie, we need to see you two next to each other.” Jacqui waved him over.

 

He took his place next to Meryl, automatically grabbing her hand in dance hold, and plastering a fake smile on his face, for the Moms’ benefit.

 

In truth, Charlie wanted nothing more to be done with this fitting.  As soon as possible.  He imagined being anywhere but here.  With Meryl.  Preferably in the spacious back seat of her car.

 

“Don’t they look just perfect?” Cheryl appraised, clasping her hands together as her eyes went glassy.

 

“Aw, Mom,” Meryl grumbled, dropping Charlie’s hand and pulling her mother into a hug.

 

If Meryl had a soft spot for anyone, it was her mother.

 

“I’m sorry… it’s just -- you two have just grown up so _fast_ ,” Cheryl sniffed against her daughter’s shoulder.

 

Charlie retreated to the dressing room, letting them have their moment. He had barely gotten the buttons of his shirt undone when Meryl barged in, unannounced.

 

“They thought it’d go faster if we just changed at the same time,” Meryl shrugged as he gaped at her.

 

 _Seriously?_   Did the moms think Charlie was asexual?  Did they think he was too awkward to get a girl like Meryl?  Did they think he was incapable of producing a boner when covered in glittery shirts?

 

Well he _wasn’t_ , and the evidence was producing itself. 

 

He continued to gawk at her as she ripped her arms out of the free dance costume, struggling to get the dress down past her hips.  To be honest, Charlie had stopped trying to get changed the moment she began unzipping her current garment.

 

Why did she have to torment him like this?

 

Noticing that he hadn’t moved in the last minute or so, she shot a look at him.  “C’mon, Charlie.  Are you gonna stare all day, or are you actually going to change into your next outfit?” she teased gently, pulling on her next dress.

 

“Maybe both,” he frowned, wishing for once that she’d just give him a break, and stop plaguing his very existence.

 

She could get under his skin like no one else.  The problem was, he didn’t even want her to stop.

 

She puckered her bottom lip out at him in a mock-frown, before taking a few steps forward and snaking her arms around his waist. “I was just _kidding_ , y’know.”

 

He placed his forehead against hers, “I know,” he huffed quietly.

 

“Do you _want_ me to stop?” she asked sincerely, her hands pausing at the small of his back.  He knew, then, that somewhere in their crazy, complicated relationship, she had grown to _care_ about him, or _respect_ him, or maybe even something entirely different, that he couldn’t fathom quite yet.

 

“No, um.  It’s fine,” he mumbled, toying with a strand of her hair, curling it around his finger.

 

This was dangerously close to an intimate moment.

 

“’Kay good,” Meryl said, clearing her throat.  She stumbled back, pushing him away, and shook her head. He could see her wheels in her brain turning, as she apparently also saw how close they had come to having a _real_ moment.

 

Charlie tossed his first shirt on its hanger and quickly switched outfits.

 

He already hated the feeling of her pushing him away.

 

\----- 

 

“Charlie, that was … really fucking dumb,” Meryl fumed, pacing outside of her car. 

 

As soon as they’d finished with the fitting, she’d practically peeled out in her car, Charlie barely managing to buckle himself in.  They were now standing in a deserted parking lot she’d randomly stopped at, pacing around the asphalt in a huff.

 

After the five minutes of charged silence in the car, he had become _terrified_ of what she was going to say. _She was going to end it, before it even began_ , he thought.

 

“What was dumb?” he asked softly, leaning up against the warm hood of her car.

 

Meryl glared at him. “You know _what_ ,” she snapped. “You and me - doing, well, whatever the fuck it is we were doing!” Meryl threw her hands up in the air and then stuffed them in the pockets of her jeans, continuing to pace around in a circle.

 

“Wh-what _were_ we doing, Meryl?” he asked slowly, taking a deep breath, as he continued to eye her, his mouth hanging open slightly.

 

She pressed her lips together in annoyance.  “Fucking around?” she asked.   Meryl shook her head rapidly.  “You and I – we can’t – we can’t _do_ that, Charlie,” Meryl halted her stomping, turning away from him.

 

“Why not?” he finally asked, running his hands repeatedly through his untamed curls until they were safely behind his ears.

 

“Because – you’re gonna get hurt, and _I’ll_ be the bitch who did it, and we’ll never be able to skate again,” she shouted, each word piercing his skin one by one.

 

He didn’t want this to be over.  Why couldn’t they just take the chance?

 

“Damn it, Meryl.  I’m not a fucking child,” he growled back at her. “Do you somehow think I can’t make a _decision_ on my own?”  He crossed his arms tightly against his chest.  “Do you somehow think that you can _ruin_ me, just because I’m some kind of _weak person?_ ”

 

“Charlie, you just … you don’t understand,” Meryl said desperately, gathering her hair and bringing it over her left-shoulder in her tale-tell move of nervousness and insecurity.

 

“Why?” he asked angrily, stepping off of her car.  “I don’t _understand_ , because I’m not as _experienced_ as you? I don’t understand because I’m a whole nine months younger? What is it that I don’t understand?” He was now only standing a few feet away from her, his eyes blazing with fury.  Who was _she_ to tell him what he would know?

 

“OK,” Meryl said, her eyes flashing back at his.  “Fine.  So what happens when I hook up with someone else, then? Are you going to be _cool_ with that? What happens when I bring someone to the hotel at a competition, and you have to hear all about it the next morning over breakfast? What happens when I get a boyfriend who’s hot, and older, and leaves his fingerprints all over me? What are you gonna do then?”

 

He knew he should be enraged, but oddly enough, it was only making him extremely turned on, and he could only partially comprehend the words coming out of her mouth at that point.

 

Charlie closed the distance between them suddenly, grabbing her and pinning her against the car with his hips. Her eyes were surprised, then curious, as his hand came up to her cheek, holding her steady. He roughly kissed her temple first. “You can like who you want.” He kissed her cheek. “You can kiss who you want.” He kissed the corner of her mouth. “You can… _fuck_ who you want,” he spit out the words, his resolve crumbling just a little. “Maybe you see me as some weak kid who doesn’t know anything.” He kissed the hollow of her throat. “But don’t you _dare_ tell me what I can and cannot do, just because you underestimate me.”

 

“Charlie,” she shivered, suddenly becoming quiet.

 

“You can’t pretend you don’t want me anymore,” he laughed dryly, suddenly far more confident than he had ever felt.

 

“Ugh, get off of me,” she tried pushing him, her weak attempts futile. “You’re not allowed to be the cocky one all of a sudden.”

 

“Why? Because you think I can’t tell how much you want me, too?” Charlie snarled, their lips mere inches apart.

 

She rolled her eyes, but he ignored it, pressing his lips against hers, kissing her hard.

 

He pulled away. “Just say it,” he breathed out.

 

“Say what?” she questioned, breathless, her eyes searching his.

 

“Say that you want me, too,” Charlie pleaded.

 

“I won’t,” she responded stubbornly, but her fingers clung lightly to his sides, still.  It was infuriating, how stubborn she was, when every instinct he had was telling him the opposite.

 

“All right, fine,” he conceded, backing away from her.  He made his way to the passenger side of the car. “Unlock the car, then.”

 

“No,” she croaked.

 

“No?” he asked, getting irritated.

 

“No,” Meryl shook her head, with more certainty.

 

“Why?” he asked, sighing.  “What are you even doing?”

 

“Ugh,” she grumbled, sliding down against her side of the car. “Because, I _want_ you, okay?”

 

It was the concession he had been waiting for, but it surprised him to hear it, nonetheless.

 

Charlie took a deep breath, calming himself, before he crossed back over to her side, crumbling down next to her. “It doesn’t _have_ to be complicated,” he replied, placating. “We can… make a sort of pact.”  He came up with the idea on the spot.

 

“That just sounds dumb,” Meryl huffed.

 

“There can be rules,” Charlie continued, this new idea continuing to formulate.

 

“No dates,” Meryl responded immediately.

 

“No dates,” he confirmed.

 

“No feelings, no titles, and no telling other people,” she spelled out her terms.

 

“Okay,” he nodded.  “What else?”

 

“No hand holding or public displays of affection.”

 

“We do that all the time,” he laughed.

 

“You know what I mean,” she knocked her shoulder into his.

 

“Fine.  Then, no tormenting me when my mom is within ten feet,” Charlie smirked, happy that he’d come up with a term of his own.

 

“Oh c’mon, that’s no fun!” Meryl joked.

 

“Practice is for _practice_ , not for asking me about what kind of porn I watch,” he replied, quirking a smile at her.

 

“OK, but that question also turned out rather nicely, just saying,” she squeezed his leg affectionately.

 

“And, you can’t complain about how I dress,” Charlie said, continuing to rattle off ideas.

 

“Oh my God,” Meryl groaned.  “ _Now_ you’re asking for the impossible. If I’m even going to _think_ about this, you’ve gotta ‘up’ your fashion game a _little_ bit,” her hand was running up his leg slowly, her fingers drumming out a dizzying rhythm on his thigh.

 

Charlie pretended to consider, pursing his lips.  “OK, accepted,” he said finally, “but I don’t want to look like a thug or something.  It has to be _reasonable_.”  He hoped his acquiescence might slow the assent of her enticing fingers, which continued to move up his leg.

 

“Charlie, please say ‘thug’ and ‘reasonable’ in the same sentence again,” she teased, moving her hand from his thigh up to his chest.

 

“You know, you’re an extremely _rude_ person,” he laughed nervously, his heart beginning to race.

 

“You’re so _sensitive_ ,” she bit out, and he didn’t know if she was talking emotionally or physically; probably a combination of both.

 

She slid her fingers up further, to shift his chin, so that he was once again looking at her. “So, what perks come with being Charles White’s fuck-buddy?”

 

“You want to be my _dad’s_ fuck-buddy--?” his forehead furrowed in fake consternation, and he wrapped a hand around her wrist, drawing her hand away.

 

“Jacqui might get mad about that one,” she agreed.

 

“Yeah, for sure,” he chuckled, unable to help himself.  “So.  Um.  _Perks_ , hmm… awkwardly quoting Lord of the Rings lines?” Charlie laughed far too loudly at his own joke, causing her to smile.

 

“I think I could deal with that -- as long as you don’t call me Pippin, or something, when I’m giving you head,” Meryl asserted.

 

He swallowed.  _Head?  Yes please._

 

“Meryl Davis, I will call you _anything_ that you like,” he replied, “if you’re doing _that_.”

 

She straddled his lap, ignoring the gravel that was starting to grind into her kneecaps. “Well, then,” she murmured.  “It sounds like we have a deal.”  Meryl leaned forward rest of the way, grabbing his face with both hands, gaining access to his mouth with hers, her tongue sliding against his.  He groaned lightly, pulling her more tightly against him.

 

 _Yes, this was definitely a deal he could work with,_ he thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you happen to be reading this... please, please, pleaseeeee leave a comment! :) Thank you!


	4. Chapter 4

Charlie’s fingers fumbled with the strings as sweat began to drip down the back of his neck. _Why was he so preoccupied?_

 

It had been only a little over a week since Meryl and Charlie had made their pact, sealing it with heated kisses on the rough cement of an abandoned parking lot in suburban Bloomfield Hills. He had seen her every morning for early morning practice, afterschool for afternoon training, and for an hour after that while he tutored her at the rink.

 

He had seen her, but he hadn’t _touched_ her.

 

Maybe she was trying to level the playing field, or re-teach him who was really in control, but the interactions between them had drifted back to _professional_ and he couldn’t figure out what exactly he might have done wrong.

 

So Friday afternoon, on their one day off, Charlie was having his weekly lesson, and struggling to play simple chords.

 

“You play as if you’ve never held a violin before,” his teacher, an elderly German man with a thick accent scolded.

 

“I’m sorry, Herr Henrichson,” Charlie slumped down in a worn leather chair, resting his instrument on his lap.

 

“You seem like a string wound too tightly,” Professor Henrichson got up from his seat, crossing the room and leafing through a shelf of music. “How is it someone who expels so much energy all the time can still be brimming over?”

 

Charlie couldn’t tell his instructor about Meryl, and how she set his body afire. He couldn’t explain how just _thinking_ about her skin made his knees turn to jelly and his thoughts turn to mush.

 

When she was in his arms, he could make things _happen_ , creatively. When she wasn’t, he was slowly beginning to grow a mental block.

 

“Aha, perfect!” the professor pulled out a piece of music, worn over the years but still boasting with life. He carefully opened it, setting it down on the stand in front of Charlie. “You play this,” he pointed at it, knowingly.

 

Charlie stood up, eyeing the music carefully. He picked out melodic phrases, and watched how certain themes danced together throughout the page. “Herr Henrichson,” he said, frowning, “I’m nowhere near being able to play this piece.”

 

“Then practice,” his instructor sat down in a huff.

 

Sinister motifs of power and overall dominance littered the music, and he realized that if Meryl had a song, this would be it. There were slow, sweeping phrases that would often cut through the brooding moments, but they were juxtaposed with frantic choruses that he could imagine them skating to. The music was powerful and athletic, much like their skating.

 

Why was it that old people could always read him like a book?

 

Charlie began fingering some of the phrases, gently holding his bow and curiously imagining what the piece would sound like if he was a master violinist.

 

“Well, that’s time,” the teacher smacked his hands on his knees suddenly, picking up Charlie’s case from the floor by his chair. “Work on the first thirty-two bars of movement one for next week.”

 

“Um, what?” he sputtered under his breath.  How was he going to learn thirty-two bars of extremely difficult music in one week?  Charlie steeled himself.  He was going to have to find a way to clear his head and focus. He carefully packed his violin away, tucking the delicate piece of music into his folder.

 

As he was walking out the door, he heard Professor Henrichson call after at him, “Don’t let a girl make you forget your head, Charles. Play with the heart, but never forget about the _head_.”  His professor tapped on his temple demonstratively.

 

Charlie nodded and closed the door.

 

_What was that supposed to mean, anyway?_

 

Shuffling his feet to Jacqui’s normal parking space, Charlie’s shoulders hunched over, mimicking bad habits from days gone by. Instead of his mother’s soccer-mom van, he saw Meryl, resting on the sleek black hood of her car.

 

Meryl perked up when she saw him, hopping off the hood and smiling.

 

He couldn’t help but return it with a grin of his own. “What are you doing here?” Charlie asked, dumbfounded.

 

“Remember when Big Charlie said you could get behind a wheel as soon as you turned seventeen?” she quirked, kicking the ground with her worn Chuck Taylor.

 

How could he _forget?_ He was the only person he knew that had been withheld driving privileges for an entire year, because his parents thought he need to learn more about _responsibility._

 

All because he had left his video games out of their cases on the entertainment console _one_ time, when they came back from a work convention a day early.

 

He shrugged, his violin awkwardly hitting against his leg and causing him to stumble a bit.

 

Meryl reached out to catch him, grabbing his violin and clutching it to her chest. “Well, how are you going to pass your test with no _practical experience_?” she wiggled her eyebrows, walking backwards to open the passenger door of her car. “You game?”

 

_Drive Meryl’s car?_

 

“Oh, hell yeah,” he grinned, jumping into the car, ready for another Friday night adventure.

 

\----- 

 

Meryl opened the sunroof, letting her hands hang out of the opening as they barreled down a country road, the music they were blasting fading into the night behind them.

 

Charlie was a natural learner when it came to many things, and Meryl soon let him try his hand out of the parking lot, and on actual roads. Now, they sped down dirt roads, getting lost on the warm September night.

 

 _This_ is what it felt like to be alive, he thought.

 

Meryl giggled in the passenger’s seat, a combination of child-like excitement and the thrill of doing something illegal. Charlie gripped the steering wheel at a precise _two and ten_ , only chancing to take the occasional peak at her face.

 

If the kids at school could see him now. Or their rink-mates, who thought that he was incredibly stiff _all the time_.

 

And – well, yes, he could be _stiff_ , but not the way they thought he was.

 

He was fun. He was adventurous. He took chances.

 

His violin was safely buckled in the back seat. _Safety_ before adventure.

 

Meryl glanced over at him, a playful sparkin her eyes, “Charlie, pull over the car.”

 

He had to shout over the music to be heard, “But we’re in the middle of nowhere!”

 

“Exactly,” she laughed.

 

He slowed the car, pulling it off onto the grassy shoulder, and put it in park. Cutting the engine, he looked over at her curiously.

 

“C’mon, Chuck,” she unbuckled his seatbelt and jumped out the car. “Turn the radio back on,” she called over her shoulder, already several paces from the car.

 

The moonlight was the only thing lighting her now as she almost disappeared from view. Charlie turned the music back on, and got out the car to find her.

 

“Hey, where’d you go?” he shouted, squinting in the night as his eyes struggled to adjust.

 

“I’m right here,” she laughed, running up to him, bumping her chest against his.

 

She seemed so much more carefree than usual. He wrapped his arms around her lower back, swaying slowly as the music changed.

 

“Charlie, this seems like a _moment_. I don’t like moments,” Meryl teased, wrinkling her nose and driving her face into his chest.

 

“Hey, that tickles,” he chuckled, wrapping his arms even tighter around her. “It’s not a moment unless we _make_ it a moment, and since we’re not making it one, it isn’t.”

 

“Well okay there, Mr. Eloquent. What a fine speech you just gave,” she teased.

 

“Don’t test me, _now_ ,” he growled, eyes suddenly going dark.  He felt like that tightly wound string again, almost ready to snap.

 

Her knees gave just a little and he clutched her tightly. “Why not?” Meryl replied lowly, standing up on her toes to catch his lower lip between her teeth.

 

“Holy _fuck_ , what was that _,_ Meryl?” he gasped, staggering backward a couple steps, his hold on her weakening.

 

She smirked, breaking hold, and retreating a few steps back towards her car. “I don’t know, would you care to find out?”

 

He knew that glint in her eye.

 

He hadn’t done anything wrong, he thought. She still wanted him.  She had said it herself.

 

Luckily, his strides were twice as long as hers and he was able to catch up with her from behind, just before she reached the car. She tilted her head just the smallest bit, and he took the opportunity to latch onto the alabaster flesh that looked near-perfect in the moonlight.

 

“Charlie,” she giggled, “nothing my costumes can’t cover.”

 

“I recommend all of your costumes now become turtle-necks and scarves,” he breathed against the sensitive skin on her neck.

 

“If I have to wear turtle-necks, you have to wear ruffles,” Meryl teased.

 

He gripped her hips harder, his fingers digging into her skin. This was so different than the way he touched her on ice, like she was a delicate treasure to be handled with care. She liked it.

 

Meryl took the opportunity to grind her backside into him, “Besides,” she purred.  “Do you think we’d actually survive another fitting anytime soon?”

 

He groaned, barely able to make out words, “Probably not.”

 

“Fuck, Charlie.  When’d you get so _good_ at this?” she moaned, giving him more access to the delicate column of her neck.

 

“Just now,” Charlie teased.

 

Meryl covered his hands with her own, “Charlie, if you don’t stop, I’m going to be fucking you on the hood of my car soon.”

 

“Oh… uhm…” he stammered, breaking away from her.  _Was that what she wanted to do?_

 

She turned around and searched his eyes in the dark. “Charlie, we don’t _have_ to. If you don’t want to, its fine.”

 

He gulped unsteadily, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose; _not want her?_ “No, I- I—“ He struggled to find words.

 

“You’re not ready,” Meryl assumed, leaning back against the car to give him space.

 

He nodded sheepishly, glad for the darkness and the fact that it covered the heated blush rising to the tips of his ears.

 

“Well, what _are_ you ready for?” her brow quirked, a sign of mischief to come.

 

Was he ready for further _anatomical study_ on this _gorgeous_ specimen?

 

_Thank God people couldn’t read his mind._

 

What should he ask for? To touch her? Her to touch him? Them to touch each other? Them to touch themselves and touch each other?

 

The possibilities were endless!

 

Where was he supposed to begin?

 

“I got to pick last time,” he tensed, shrugging out of the question.

 

“Well, what did you _like_ about last time?” Meryl countered back at him, jumping up and sliding back until she was sitting dead-center on the hood of her car.

 

He kicked the rocks at his feet, _how could he even begin to list it all?_

 

_Her eyes, her voice, her hands, her boobs—_

 

She giggled.

 

_Shit! He had NOT meant to say that last one out loud._

 

“My boobs? Well, that’s a start,” she smirked.

 

“I didn’t mean—okay.  I mean, there was other, I mean… fuck…” Charlie trailed off, hands sinking to the bottom of his pockets. _Well, this was embarrassing_.

 

“Why is it your head was so much clearer when we were naked than it is now?” she teased.

 

But really, _why was it?_

 

“Maybe because it’s been so long, and I’ve had too much time to think,” he offered.

 

Meryl ran her hands through her hair a few times, considering his response. “Well, what _have_ you thought about?” she questioned.

 

“What you’d feel like,” Charlie replied without hesitation, chancing to look up at her.

 

She nodded her head in agreement, clearly approving of his response. “But… you touch me all the time,” she shot back at him, thoughtfully.

 

“It’s not the same.”

 

While still on the hood of the car, she rose to her knees. “So you don’t _think_ about it- when your hand rides up my thigh for a lift, or brushes my chest when we’re breaking out of dance hold, or when you have to grab the back of my neck in our choreography?” With each question, she modeled the behavior, first running her hand up her thigh, then brushing her hand gently across her breasts, then ghosting a hand across the back of her neck.

 

His eyes turned dark, “Meryl Davis, are you an exhibitionist?”

 

She grinned. “Depends. Do you enjoy it?”

 

“ _Too_ much,” Charlie snorted. “And to answer your question I’d say that most of the time I _can’t_ , simply because I’m so worried I could drop you or accidentally trip or something. Your safety is so much more important.”

 

She frowned.

 

“But there are times when I’m tired and my guard’s down, or I’m lost in a program, or you lean into me just the right way…” he didn’t finish, knowing she’d understood his meaning.

 

“Have you ever made out in the backseat of a car?” she bit her lip.

 

He chuckled, the answer was obvious. “No,” he admitted.

 

“Want to?” she slid off the hood, opening up the passenger side door of her backseat and motioned to him.

 

“Why not the front seat?” he questioned.

 

She chuckled affectionately.  “You obviously haven’t ever made out in a car.” Meryl grabbed him by the arm, tugging him closer and then shoving him into the backseat. “There’s a steering wheel, and the console in the middle, and, it’s just not nearly as comfy,” she explained, crawling onto his lap.

 

“Oh!  My violin,” he remembered as he nudged against it, maneuvering deftly to unbuckle it from its spot in the car and passing it into the front seat of the vehicle, carefully.

 

After he set it down his hands were still, as if they were glued to the upholstery.

 

“Charlie,” she spoke quietly, “you know you can touch me, right?”

 

Charlie’s head bobbed jerkily.

 

“Preferably now,” she giggled, reaching over to place his hands on her hips, and grinding down into his lap just to make her intentions known.

 

He was already biting his lip and struggling to breathe.

 

She clicked her teeth at him, shaking her head in disapproval. “Well, do _I_ always have to make the first mo-“

 

He cut her off with his lips, a little bit too excited and aggressive, the first kiss coming out rather wet and sloppy. Slowly, however, he got himself back into the groove of claiming her lips with his own, as they played a game of dominance.

 

She’d tilt his chin to get better access to his tongue, or he’d tease her by kissing her with tantalizing slowness.

 

He fought to move his hands, finding it difficult to think about what that part of him should be doing what, when so much of his brain space was occupied with trying not to hit their teeth together, and trying not to _prematurely ejaculate_ while she was bucking her hips against his.

 

_This was harder than it looked._

 

She grabbed him by his collar, breaking him out of his thoughts as her hands wrapped around his neck until they were tugging at the soft curls on the back of his neck.

 

“I love your lips,” she sighed, breathless, giving him time to catch a breath against her chest. He placed a light kiss to one of her collar bones, peeking out from underneath her fitted t-shirt.

 

She hummed in contentment, pulling away from him and examining the fogged windows.

 

He starred up at her in awe. How was he _here?_ Was this really happening?

 

Meryl met his eyes with one of her devilish grins as she pulled the hem of her shirt up, tossing it to the floor. She hastily unclasped her bra, discarding it just as quickly.

 

Slowly, she leaned in to kiss the sensitive skin behind his ear. Then she worked her way slowly down his neck to his collar, pushing it aside to latch onto a meaty part of his shoulder.

 

With intoxicating slowness she worked her way back up, running her tongue along his adam’s apple, paying close attention to the hard line of his jaw.

 

She was such a tease.

 

He couldn’t get enough.

 

Meryl took his hands and trailed them up her torso until his thumbs were pressing against the soft swell of her chest.

 

She swallowed loudly, and he took a moment to look up to her face. Her eyes were screwed shut; she looked like she was in agony.

 

“Am I doing something wrong?” he asked, sincerely.

 

“Fuck, Chuck,” she let out a breath and laughed. “No, I’m just trying to give you enough time to adjust to everything.”

 

“Oh, um.  So, I can touch your-?” he was taken aback.

 

“Jesus Christ, _yes_ ,” she roughly shifted until his calloused fingers slid further up her breasts.

 

She helped guide his hands, showing him what she liked, until finally she let his hands go and started riding his lap.

 

 _God._  His jeans had never felt tighter.

 

Charlie tested the waters, then, gliding a finger gently over her nipple.

 

She growled back at him.

 

Well _that_ was new.

 

He became more assertive in his movements, pinching her softly, and then running his entire hand up to her neck and back down.

 

She was practically _mewling_ at him.

 

“Mouth,” Meryl barely got out, her head tilted back and her eyes screwed shut.

 

“Look at me,” he grasped the back of her neck roughly, causing her to open her eyes hastily.

 

Their eyes trained together, he pulled her closer until his lips were grazing across her shoulders; lazy open-mouthed kisses that made her want to screw her eyes shut again.

 

But she didn’t, her dark eyes trained on him as he continued, lifting her out of his lap slightly, kissing a trail down her sternum until he was eye-level with her breasts, Meryl’s head just barely touching the roof of the car.

 

He gripped her lower back with coarse hands, leaning forward to brush his lips against her achingly sensitive flesh.

 

He flicked his tongue out experimentally, running it over her the soft pebble of her nipple.

 

“Just put it in your mouth, already,” Meryl breathed, greedily, and he followed her command automatically. “Holy shit!” she squeaked.

 

Meaning to grab his thigh, her hand came down and brushed against the length of his erection.

 

His mouth separated from her breast, letting out an embarrassingly loud moan, the likes of which he’d never heard come out of himself before.

 

“Fuck, Charlie, I’m sorry,” she moved her hands hastily back to his chest.

 

“It’s okay,” he gasped, and lapped at her breasts, once, twice, with aching slowness.

 

Her head dipped back just a bit until she brought her eyes back to his.  He barely caught the gleam in her eyes before her hand slipped down, grabbing a handful of him through his pants.  He moaned again loudly in response, his mouth vibrating against her chest.

 

“You shouldn’t tease me, Charlie,” she warned teasingly.

 

He grinnedbefore latching onto, and sucking at the tender flesh between her breasts.

 

“Oh fuck, or maybe you _should_ ,” she laughed, her fingers still playing with him through the rough fabric of his pants.

 

He smiled against her skin, noting the blotches of discolored skin littering her torso. “Meryl, you look like a game of connect the dots.”

 

“Charles, shut up and kiss me, already,” she teased, her hand still palming him.

 

“As you _wish_ ,” Charlie beamed, pulling her flush against him and training his lips on hers once again.

 

_Who knew breaking the law could be this fun?_

 

\----- 

 

When Meryl pulled up to his house, a scant fifteen minutes before his curfew, he noted that the light in the den was still shining through the large bay window that overlooked the drive.

 

“See you tomorrow,” he bit his lip, not knowing if it was appropriate to kiss her goodnight, right outside the house where his parents were probably both waiting for him.

 

Her grin was enough to melt him into his seat, his erection still throbbing without release.

 

“Call me if you need help,” she smirked, her hand brushing over his lap as she leaned across to open his door for him.

 

He felt himself twitch.

 

He quickly grabbed his violin from his feet and stepped out of the car. “Uh, thanks,” he nodded at her awkwardly, trying his best to cover up his small _problem_ with his instrument case, as he made his way up the walk.

 

Charlie entered the front door, immediately resting his back against it as he let out a large breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

 

“Home, just in the nick of time,” he heard his father say from inside the next room.

 

“Yep, Dad, safe and sound,” Charlie teetered in the doorway, his father sitting in the computer chair behind his desk. “Working late?” Charlie asked, struggling to make small talk.

 

“Just making sure you’d get home in one piece. Was that Meryl’s car I heard?” his father quirked an eyebrow at him, knowingly scooting closer in his office chair to rest his hands upon his desk.

 

“Uh, yeah -- Dad,” Charlie stammered. “I’ve been tutoring her and stuff. You know, being a good partner, and all.”  He felt himself grimace unconsciously.  He was a horrible liar, he thought.

 

“That’s good to hear, son.”

 

Big Charlie gave him a knowing look.

 

_Damn it.  Why was he so transparent?_

 

“OK,” Charlie sighed loudly.  “Um, I guess I should probably go brush my teeth and get ready for bed, then?”  He gripped the case of his violin, desperately hiding the evidence of what Meryl had done to him in the backseat of her car. He pushed away from the door frame and began creeping up the stairs to his room.

 

“Oh, Charlie?” his dad called after him.

 

He almost tripped down the steps trying to answer his dad. “Yeah?”

 

Charlie could hear the low chuckle in his dad’s voice.  “You might want to cover up those hickeys before your mother sees. Your mom would probably kill you,” Big Charlie smiled.

 

Charlie didn’t know what to say.  He lingered on the stairs, paralyzed in place.

 

“A simple thank you would suffice, Charlie,” his father teased.

 

“Th-thank… thank you,” he mumbled, tucking his tail between his legs and making his way up the stairs to his room.

 

 _Meryl Davis was going to be the death of him_.

 

That was, if he could avoid being found out by his mom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dun dun dunnnnnn... THANKS EVERYONE FOR YOUR SUPPORT! If you liked this chapter, let me know by taking a fewwww seconds to comment! Like the smut? Don't like the smut? Let me hear what you think! :)


	5. Chapter 5

Charlie rested his back against the hastily closed door to his bedroom, running a still-sweaty palm through his haphazard curls. He knocked his head back against the hard surface, before bolting over to his side table, to turn on his lamp and survey the damage to his neck in his dresser’s large mirror.

 

_Dear God, Meryl Davis was a vampire._

 

Next time, they’d have to be more careful.

 

_Next time._

 

Just the thought of seeing her again made him giddy. This was the _same girl_ he’d spent almost every day with since before he could remember.  The same girl who hadn’t given him a second glance the second they were off the ice. The same girl who was currently driving him up the wall, every time her name even popped into his head.  _What was happening with his life?_

 

His phone buzzed in his pocket, as he lazily traced a finger over each imprint of her upon his skin. He caught his own sluggish smile in the mirror as he imagined her lips, once again pressed heatedly against his neck.

 

Why were his pants always so _tight_?

 

Perhaps because she’d drove him _almost_ to the brink, before jumping back into the front seat, claiming she had to get him back before his curfew _or else_.

 

He didn’t _blame_ her, Jacqui could be terrifying.  And he had skated in right on time - but _still_. She’d left him with quite the precarious _situation_.

 

Charlie fumbled through his pockets, trying to figure out where he’d stuffed his phone as he simultaneously attempted to take off his shirt.  He glimpsed _her_ name through an arm hole of his shirt, as he hurriedly tossed his shirt on the floor, and thumbed his phone to get to his inbox.

 

**Meryl: Needing help yet?**

 

Help with _what?_

 

He didn’t have a whole lot of homework that weekend; as he’d managed to get quite a bit done in study hall, before his violin lesson. Help learning the piece of _music_ he needed to work on? Meryl wasn’t really gifted when it came to instruments.

 

 _Well_ , he amended, the _sight_ of her playing her flute was quite a gift—but she wasn’t a maestro or anything. She only played it to keep her parents off her back, and as little as humanely possible.

 

So what was she talking about?

 

**Charlie: With…?**

 

 _Smooth, Charlie_.

 

Charlie kicked his shoes off before climbing onto his bed, and propping himself up on a pillow. He held his phone, clicking the home button every few seconds, hoping she’d responded to his question.  He noticed, then, that his glasses were smudged, so he pulled them off, rubbing the lenses on the corner of his pillowcase. His phone vibrated suddenly, and he squinted, trying to read her reply as he fumbled to put his glasses back on.

 

It took a moment for his eyes to re-adjust, but when they did, he thought they might pop straight out of his head.

 

**Meryl: Do u still hav a “problem” that needs taking care of?**

 

He didn’t even _care_ that she wasn’t using full words; he didn’t care that his parents’ bedroom was right underneath his, and he didn’t care that his neck was so pocked with marks, it looked like he’d contracted leprosy.  Because she’d replied to him.  About _that_.  To be honest, it was the last thing he had expected her to do, though he wasn’t sure why. 

 

Maybe a part of him still couldn’t believe that she was interested in him – _that way_.

 

A flush ran over his body, and he could feel the skin of his chest prickle up in excitement.

 

**Charlie: Yeah.**

 

Well, what was he supposed to say?

 

**Meryl: I give you a D when it comes to sexting.**

 

That stung a little.  He didn’t know what he was doing.  He had never _talked_ about that before with a girl, let alone texted – or, “sexted,” as it were.  How was he supposed to respond?

 

**Charlie: It’s a little awkward…**

 

After typing out his response, he reached down to try and alleviate some of the pressure, which had only gotten worse after Meryl’s initial response, and undid his pants, adjusting himself.  It was becoming border-line painful, to be honest.

 

_It wouldn’t hurt so much if he just…_

 

He shoved the thought out of his head. _No._ Wouldn’t that be creepy, touching himself while he was talking to her?  And could he even manage to use one hand to operate his phone and the other hand to operate- _himself_?

 

**Meryl: Do u want 2 try again- or will I c u 2morrow?**

 

He grimaced, despite himself.  It really drove him nuts when she typed like that. 

 

**Charlie: Use full words and I’ll try…**

 

**Meryl: Lol. I should have known that correct spelling would turn you on…**

 

Was she serious?  He had been half-kidding.  He hadn’t actually imagined she’d really want to try _sexting_ with him.  Why did she always have to be such a tease?

 

He had been perfectly _fine_ existing in his suburban home, with God-awful wallpaper and his mom’s figurine collection. He had been perfectly fine having his parents for best friends, and spending quiet nights at home watching _Andy Griffith_ re-runs. He had been perfectly _fine_ being that straight-A student who’d spend his Friday nights studying, practicing violin for an hour every day, and ice dancing with his wholly- _platonic_ partner.

 

Charlie White had been perfectly _content_ , living the status quo.

 

In fact, he had been doing just _swell_ , and resigned himself to only _imagine_ the way her breasts would feel, under his hands, as he’d stroke himself in the shower. He’d allowed himself to become exceedingly creative, when it came out to the fantasy involving Meryl Davis. One day he was tasked with spring cleaning the garage, and he’d even imagined how she’d call out his name as he boned her on his grandmother’s Singer sewing table.

 

But that was all because he had never imagined it being his _reality_.  Nothing he ever imagined had prepared him for the fact that she was actually doing this.  That they were actually doing things, together.  She was now texting him about being _turned on._

 

If she asked him to get on his knees and crawl to her from his house, he would probably be completely okay with that.  Taking a deep breath, he typed back.

 

**Charlie: I was already turned on.**

 

Her response was almost immediate.

 

**Meryl: I know.**

 

Every time he thought that he could match her, or even meet her halfway, her quick wit and easy banter would win. Those two words were enough to almost _undo_ him, but he still hadn’t allowed his hand make the trip south of the border…

 

**Charlie: So. I’m new to this. What am I supposed to do?**

 

She already had the upper hand and she _knew_ it, so he was becoming more at ease with just asking what was expected of him, and rolling with the punches as best he could. If she was willing to _teach_ , he was willing to _learn_.

 

**Meryl: Take off your clothes and lay down.**

 

Well, that was direct.

 

There was a slight draft in his room, and Charlie debated when he took off his pants, if should he crawl under the sheets, or sneak off to the bathroom--?  He didn’t usually jerk off in his bed; it created too much of a mess, and left evidence he didn’t want his mom finding, but, well. ~~~~

He wished there was a standard operating procedure for these types of things.

 

**Charlie: Are you taking off yours?**

 

It was meant to simply be an honest question, but he also hoped that she took it as an _invitation_. Because, well, if he had to take off _his_ clothes, and risk being heard by his parents, then she should at _least_ be naked, he reasoned.

 

**Meryl: Sleep shorts and a tank… nothing underneath.**

 

In his mind’s eye, he could see himself bunching up her tank with his hand, as he took one of her breasts into his mouth.  He imagined the way the shorts would gap, and he’d be able to see far more than he should, of an area he’d not yet explored.

 

 _Shit_.

 

Now that he had a good mental image of what she looked like, and an _actual_ memory of what she sounded like and _felt_ like, his fantasies were getting far more vivid, and harder to suppress.

 

**Meryl: And you?**

 

She was getting anxious, apparently.

 

He set his phone down on the bed and quickly wiggled himself out of his jeans, ripping his socks off, and chucking them aside. One perk of her not being present was that she didn’t have to watch his awkward impersonation of an excited worm. Was he going to have to practice taking his clothes off in the mirror, so he didn’t look like a fool in front of her?

 

He was turning into a basket case.  _Relax_ , he reminded himself.

 

**Charlie: Just boxers now.**

 

**Meryl: Color?**

 

He glanced down toward his tented shorts.

 

**Charlie: Blue.**

 

**Meryl: I miss your hands Charlie.**

 

His free hand traced nervous circles on his belly, just above the waist of his shorts.  He wasn’t sure how soon he should proceed, in touching himself.  Swallowing, he imagined her, sitting in her bed, her lips pursed slightly, her breaths coming out shallow, and typed a response.

 

**Charlie: I miss your mouth.**

 

He bit his lip hard, as soon as he pressed send. Should he have said lips instead? He had meant that he missed _kissing_ her. Was she going to take that the wrong way?  He was already bad at this.

 

His phone vibrated in his hand.

 

**Meryl: You have no idea what my mouth can do. I’ll show you sometime.**

 

He twitched.   _Meryl’s mouth… down **there**? _

 

How the heck was he supposed to type when he was _already_ so close to the brink?

 

**Charlie: I can’t wait.**

 

Three words that took far too much thought and effort to get out. Could he ruin _everything_ by not telling the same thing?  Should he have said more?  Told her what he would do to her?  Why hadn’t anyone ever told him that sexting was _hard_?

 

**Meryl: I want to feel your fingers inside me.**

 

**Charlie: Holy shit.**

 

Because, what else could he say? That was enough to get him to immediately pull his boxers off, and toss them across the room.  His hand circled the base of his erection, grasping tightly.

 

**Meryl: You want that too?**

 

He let out a short breath, his left hand barely able to type the short response.

 

**Charlie: So much.**

 

Charlie tested the waters, slowly stroking himself to calm the storm that was raging within. He needed to find a way to drag this out a little longer, because he _had_ to know what she was going to say next; he wanted her words to help him find release.

 

**Meryl: Are you stroking yourself now?**

 

**Charlie: Yes. You?**

 

**Meryl: I’ve got two fingers right where I want you. Care to guess?**

 

Pre-cum coated his knuckle and he used it to lubricate his ministrations. He carefully ran his finger over the tip, but realized that he’d be gone way too soon if he kept up at this rate.

 

His heart was starting to pound, and he stilled his hand again.

 

**Charlie: What do you feel like?**

 

**Meryl: Hot. Slick. Ready.**

 

He felt an ache build up in his chest.  When he had imagined Meryl in his fantasies, that’s what she’d always been, wet and dripping with desire for him.  And now she was, on the other end of the phone, her fingers inside herself…

 

His eyes screwed shut, as he tried to remember every detail of the day she’d laid in _this very bed_ and brought herself over the edge, in front of him.

 

He still couldn’t believe that had been real.  He forced himself to breathe deeply, as he typed back a response.  The concentration it took to type out what he needed to say allowed him to hold on that much longer.

 

**Charlie: I want you in this bed. Now.**

 

**Meryl: You’re hot when you’re demanding.**

 

He grinned stupidly at the air, licking his lips.  One hand had a phone full of sexts, and the other was full of his junk. It was stupid to be so giddy, but he was. No one, in his entire life, had called him _hot_. Let alone, someone as sexy as Meryl.

 

**Meryl: I’m not going to last long.**

 

**Charlie: I’m too close.**

 

His hand pressed more tightly against the base of his cock, and he told himself to hold on, but all he could think about was Meryl’s fingers, rubbing roughly against her core, as she moaned in front of him.  His hand moved by rote, stroking his aching cock again.  _Shit_ , he was definitely not going to make it much longer.

 

His phone practically jumped out of his hand and onto his face as he realized he was getting an incoming call.

 

It was _her_! _She_ was calling!

 

Was he supposed to answer?

 

His fingers shaking, he hit the green button, pressing the phone to his ear, “Hello?” he whispered.

 

Her jagged breaths assaulted him, causing him to twitch again, inside his hand. He needed to hold himself together for just a little bit longer, he thought, stilling his movements.

 

“Charlie, _fuck_ , I just want you so bad right now,” she sighed.

 

He was slack-jawed, and painfully hard, and with every step they took, he felt like he was slowly losing all semblance of sanity.

 

“I want you, too,” Charlie breathed out in response.

 

“God, I love it when your voice gets all husky and low,” she chuckled, straining to speak as he could hear her bringing herself closer and closer to the brink.

 

He fisted himself harder, then, knowing it was no use. It was now or never, and he was going to tumble sooner rather than later, whether he wanted to or not.

 

“Meryl, I want to taste you,” he growled, without thinking.

 

“You did plenty of that tonight,” she moaned.

 

“No Meryl, I mean I _want_ …” he didn’t know how to say the words, but he hoped she would understand.  His mind had already put himself there, his tongue lapping her slowly, as he heard her gasp in response over the phone.

 

“Y-you mean you wa--?” she cut off and all he could hear were her labored breaths, then. “Fuck, Charlie, where’d that come from?”

 

“I want you to teach me,” he bit out, knowing release was going to find him any second.

 

“Charlie, I will teach you _anything_ ,” she gasped, before he heard her break apart over the phone, his name a chant that hung upon her lips as she did so.

 

The way she said his name, all smooth as silk, low and breathy, was enough to skyrocket him into oblivion, as he forced himself to choke down his too-loud groans and steady his breathing.

 

For several seconds, there was just the sound of Meryl’s breath, as he heard her returning to normal.  He imagined her head against the pillow, her eyes squeezed shut, her chest moving up and down as she came down from her bliss.  She was beautiful, he thought.

 

“Charlie,” she said meekly, breaking the silence between them. “I… didn’t mean for it to happen so soon.”

 

Something fluttered in his chest a bit. It was an odd feeling akin to adoration or reverence that he didn’t want to articulate or even dwell upon too much.  In that moment, Meryl seemed more real.

 

He knew the window of her vulnerability only lasted seconds. He only saw the openings of her iron-clad resolve when they were finished with a program and she was physically spent, or the other day when she had woken in his bed next to him.

 

 _That_ was why he liked her, he realized.

 

He didn’t only want her as a plaything. He didn’t want to be her dalliance. He wanted to be _hers_.

 

He’d need to pick his battles, though, and he swallowed, steeling himself.

 

“No Meryl, it was great. Thank you,” he blushed. Was _thanking her_ cheesy? He didn’t know what the standard response was for this sort of situation, but he’d been brought up to have some manners, after all.

 

“Thank you, Charlie,” she murmured, coyly.

 

“Um.  We should probably get some sleep before practice tomorrow,” Charlie laughed nervously, not knowing how else to respond.

 

“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” Meryl had broken out of her post-orgasm version of herself, and he could tell she had already put up her armor again. 

 

He didn’t want to lose her, and his mind raced for a response.

 

“Hey! There’s a movie that came out last weekend I really wanted to see, wanna maybe catch an early show after practice? I think it’s only like an hour and a half, so it wouldn’t take your entire night if you didn’t want it to,” he rambled on, hoping that maybe she’d accept.  He could pretend like it was an _almost_ date, and like he was making real headway.

 

“Yeah!” Meryl responded immediately.  Then, just as quickly, her tone shifted. “I mean, yeah Chuck, that sounds cool. I’ll see you in the morning, then.”

 

He hadn’t expected her to respond so quickly and enthusiastically, even though she’d obviously tried to cover it up. Was their relationship changing, or was something off about her? He hoped it was the former.  Maybe he _was_ getting to the core of the _real_ Meryl Davis, he thought with a smile.

 

“Sweet dreams, Meryl,” he murmured into the phone.

 

“Goodnight, Charlie,” Meryl hung up.

 

With a whoop, Charlie launched his phone up in the air in celebration. He went to catch it but realized his hand was still covered in stick, and instead of reaching to grab it with his clean hand, his timing was off, and it landed _smack_ on his temple, instead.

 

 _That_ was going to hurt in the morning.

 

-*-

 

The tension was so palpable, Charlie felt like he could feel it resting in his cargo-short covered lap. That morning’s practice had gone swimmingly, once he’d forced himself to shut his brain off and concentrate on the task at hand.  But now that they were outside of practice, and back in the real world, everything was different again.  He wasn’t sure if he was allowed to breech the distance between his and Meryl’s hands in the dark theater, or if he was supposed to keep his clammy hands resting carefully on his knees.

 

One armrest was all that separated his skin from hers, but the mere inches seemed like miles.

 

He chewed on his bottom lip, stretching his fingers and inching them closer to hers, just in case she decided to edge over and take his hand.  He made furtive glances at her fingers, noticing how they almost seemed to be glued to one another while clasped in her lap.

 

He tried desperately to pay attention to what was happening onscreen, but no matter what he did, he couldn’t get over the giddy feeling in his stomach, every time he thought she had nudged a minute degree closer to him.

 

Earlier that day, Charlie had felt calm, focused, and driven.  Marina had even congratulated Charlie for “acting like man.”  Whatever that was supposed to mean.  What had he been acting like before? he wondered.  What else _could_ he be?

 

Still, their twizzles had been in sync, their step sequence was beginning to look as it should, and their new lifts were _finally_ starting to feel seamless. He was excited to begin the season, to see if their programs were received well by the judges.

 

Everything was coming together so well on the ice, and yet - all he wanted to do here was hold onto Meryl’s damn hand.

 

He’d been doing it practically _all day_ with her; it seemed like there should be no difference between then and now, but there _was_.

 

Making out in the backseat of a warm car, fogging up the windows and becoming more familiar with the gentle curves of her body was one thing. Touching himself as he watched her see stars in his bed was one thing. Bringing her over the edge with his voice alone while desperately trying to remain quiet so his parents wouldn’t hear was one thing.

 

But holding hands?  In public, while on a _date?_   That was _intimate_.

 

It felt like the moment he saw her eyes flutter open for the first time, when he had caught her napping on his bed.  It was like the way she’d smile at him after a successful run-through of their programs, pride in her eyes and exhilaration filling her heart. That feeling brought them a lot closer than being just _friends_ or _partners_ or _siblings_ , like some people wanted to compare them to.  Or erstwhile fuck buddies, as they’d apparently become.

 

Holding hands, here, would mean they’d crossed the line of mere _friends-with_ - _benefits_ and into actual _emotions_. Charlie didn’t know if she would let him in. As far as he knew, he wasn’t aware if Meryl ever let _anyone_ in.

 

“Charlie, are you okay?” she whispered at him with a half-smirk on her face, and he instantly withdrew his gaze from her lap, where her hands had been carefully folded, and stared straight ahead at the screen.

 

His jaw clenched, “Yeah, I’m fine.”  He suddenly wondered if she’d gotten the wrong idea.

 

“Charlie, what’s wrong?” she insisted, nudging closer to him, and resting her head gently on his shoulder.

 

_She was touching him._

 

Even though the theater was dark, and barely anyone filled the rows upon rows of seats, they were in _public_ and she was trying to _comfort_ him because she thought something was wrong.  She wasn’t trying to come onto him, or mess with him.  She wanted to _help_ him. 

 

“It’s nothing,” he smiled against her hair.

 

She reached over, then, grabbing his hand, and brought it over to her lap, holding onto it with both hands.

 

Her hands were warm, and tiny, and it felt like _home_ being there with her like this. He was comfortable, and devoid of fear or regret. Meryl tilted her head back up, looking into his eyes for a moment before softly pressing her lips to his.

 

There was no hunger in her kiss, just a chaste way of saying she was there, if he needed her, and that she in some way, saw him as more than a plaything she could toy with.  It meant everything to him in that moment.

 

“What was that for?” he grinned as she drew away.

 

“Just something to say that… this was a really nice day,” she smiled, and it reached her eyes, in a way that most of her smiles hadn’t in a very long time. 

 

-*-

 

“So, what’s your mom making for Sunday lunch tomorrow?” Meryl asked as they got back into her car after the movie.

 

Charlie shook his head.  “No idea. What’s your mom bringing for desert?” ~~~~

“I dunno.  Some type of cookie, I guess?  She was working on them when I went home to change earlier.” Meryl merged into traffic, heading in the direction of Charlie’s house. ~~~~

“I hope they’re her _monster_ cookies, those are the _best_!” Charlie grinned, wiggling in his seat excitedly.

 

“Oh my God, _please_ can you re-enact that for me one more time?  That was ridiculous,” she teased as they stopped at a red light.

 

He blushed with embarrassment. “No,” Charlie huffed.

 

“Well,” she responded, her eyes flashing at him in mirth. “I guess I’ll just have to hope they _are_ monster cookies, so I can see that little happy dance of yours again tomorrow.” Meryl laughed then, reaching over to shake his leg.

 

Charlie couldn’t control his body’s reaction to her hand resting, in that particular region.

 

Her eyes went wide, and she stared at him with an open-mouthed grin.  “Holy _shit_ , Charlie, did you just get a boner thinking about _monster cookies?_ ” She chuckled, turning her eyes back to the road again.

 

“ _No_ ,” he immediately responded, his hands flying down to not-so-discreetly cover his lap, as he attempted to cross his legs in her tiny car.

 

“Oh my God, but you totally _did_ ,” Meryl joked, poking him in the side.

 

“It wasn’t _that_ ,” he frowned, rolled his eyes.

 

“Wow.  You are something else,” she shook her head, her shoulders shaking with silent laughter.

 

It wasn’t _his_ fault he was so sensitive! He was a teenage boy with raging hormones, who’d been leaning up against her for the last hour-and-a-half, the scent of her hair still on his nose, and all he could think about was how badly he wanted to stoke that flame that felt like an undying ember between them, constantly smoldering.

 

Even thinking just about _feelings,_ and making something _real_ between them somehow tended to turn him on.

 

OK, so, maybe he had some slight self-control issues.

 

Without realizing it, Meryl had snuck her hand into his lap, and was gently stroking his inner thigh.

 

_Lord Jesus, have mercy!_

 

He shut his eyes, to force himself to calm down.  Even the slightest things had the biggest effect on him.  When he opened his eyes again and glanced over at her, he saw her tug her bottom lip between her teeth, an evil glint in her eye.

 

“Meryl -- the road,” he choked.

 

“What about it?”

 

“Y-you’re going to kill me,” he caught her hand with his own, trying to coax it away from his hardness.  “You can’t drive like that.”

 

“Oh - c’mon, _Chuck_ , live a little!” she squealed, slinking her fingers back upwards.  “I’m the one driving, not you.”  She glanced at him quickly with a wink.

 

“J-just … not here,” he pleaded, and squeezed her hand, bringing it up to meet his lips.

 

She was quiet for a moment, pulling her hand back to the steering wheel, and the silence was deafening.

 

Charlie’s mind raced with anxiety.  Had the hand kiss been too much? Had he gone too far?  Maybe he shouldn’t have--

 

“My parents aren’t home tonight,” Meryl said, interrupting his thoughts.  She spoke in a low voice, suggestive.

 

“Ohhh – o-kay,” he swallowed, barely getting out the word.

 

She pulled a U-turn at the next intersection.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for sticking with this story and leaving comments/messages! Please take the time to tell me what you thought about this chapter-- hope you all have a great day!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, hey, it's me... Your friend Becka. Sorry I've been an absentee writer. But good news... I'm back.
> 
> My lovely friend Potatoholic, aka Twizzler Mom beta'd this, but really I should give her co-writer status at this point, because she adds so much to each and every chapter. 
> 
> Without further ado, here's your regularly scheduled awkward boners and interrupting blowjobs to talk about feelings:

Charlie was sandwiched uncomfortably against the Davis’ front door, but he couldn’t find the heart to care, because her fingertips were tugging on the curls at the nape of his neck, and her teeth lightly nipped and tugged at his bottom lip, while his hands splayed under the hem of her shirt, his fingers dipping into the dangerous dimples at the base of her spine.

 

 

Her hips rolled against his erection as she strained on tip-toes to deepen their kiss. Meryl was trying to drink him in, and Charlie was more than willing to oblige.

 

 

His head gently knocked back against the solid wood of the door, and they both pulled back, chuckling for a moment, before resuming their assault upon one another. Charlie loved the feel of her smile against his lips, as he clutched her even tighter. The worrying thought that there were other houses lined up and down the street, with porch lights on, and occupants that were _clearly home_ , barely even entered Charlie’s mind.

 

 

That was, until the front door of Meryl’s house suddenly swung wide open, and Charlie almost fell backwards into the foyer.

 

 

Meryl struggled to grab onto him, but as soon as he was able to right himself, he realized he had to cover up his _raging erection._ He did the first thing he could think of, and that was to grasp Meryl by the shoulders, and quickly place her between him, and the person who had interrupted their rather _heated_ display of exhibitionism on the Davis’s front porch.

 

 

“Clay?” Charlie squeaked, taking in the disheveled appearance of Meryl’s younger brother.

 

 

“What are you doing home, you little shit?” Meryl barked, gesturing at him in defiance. “Weren’t Mom and Dad supposed to take you to Grandma’s for the night?”

 

 

“I’m not _five_ ,” Clayton Davis defended himself. Although, in his Scooby-Doo pajama pants, he couldn’t seem to convey his sentiment fully.

 

 

“OK, but why did you come to the door?” Meryl asked, her voice not quite as biting.

 

 

“You knocked,” Clay shrugged.

 

 

Charlie furrowed his brow.

 

_Ooh, crap,_ he thought. _The head knock…_

 

 

Meryl turned around and shot him a death glare.

 

 

“Isn’t it kind of _late_ for Charlie to be tutoring you - on a _Saturday?_ Shouldn’t you be on the back of some scuzzy guy’s motorcycle or something?” Clay’s eyes suddenly began studying them suspiciously.

 

 

Clay had completely ruined the moment, but somehow, Charlie still had a boner that wouldn’t quit. Not to mention his disheveled hair, untucked polo, and eyes that kept darting to the back of Meryl’s head-- hoping that she’d come up with _some_ sort of clever excuse to get him out of this _predicament._

 

 

“Um.  We were trying to get in a little practice... for our free dance,” Meryl lied through gritted teeth.

 

 

“On the front porch, in the _dark_?” Clay’s eyes narrowed.

 

 

“It felt like spotlight skating,” Charlie shrugged.

 

_Damn,_ Charlie felt like such a badass liar.

 

 

Meryl snorted, cluing him into how moronic his response had actually been.

 

 

“So you have a lot of _spotlight skating_ coming up, Charlie?” Clay took a step towards him, locking eyes, as if to decipher their secrets.

 

 

Meryl shoved Clay backwards, turning him around and ushering him up the stairs. “Now, I know you’re not five, Clay, but we _are_ really stressing over our first competition this season, and I would _appreciate_ if you wouldn’t give us any flack for actually _trying_ to practice every possible moment…”  Her voice tapered off as she got further away.

 

  
Charlie noticed the cold breeze coming from the doorway, and reached over to close the door behind him. He wasn’t sure if he should take this as his cue to exit… But Meryl _had_ driven him over, and it would make quite an epic walk home.

 

 

There was no way he was calling _Jacqui_.

 

 

Jacqui would tell Cheryl, and Cheryl would tell Marina, and Marina would drill Charlie until she melted a hole in the ice from the heat of her Russian stare.

 

_No_ , he couldn’t call his mom.

 

 

Luckily, Meryl came back down the stairs just moments later. “Clay’s playing video games, in his room, with headphones on. I think I convinced the little twerp, but he’s _smart…_ so who knows.”

 

 

“So why’d your parents leave him at home, anyway?” Charlie sulked, puppy-dog-style, against a decorative pillar in the entryway.

 

 

Meryl grabbed the front of his shirt and dragged him into the living room. “He convinced them that he was responsible enough to stay home with my supervision, I guess.”

 

 

She flopped down on the couch. He sat down beside her, trying to mask the fact that he had to adjust himself to do so. Charlie coughed, “So they believed you’d actually _be_ here to supervise him?”

 

 

“Chuckles, you do _get_ that I can be a decent daughter and sibling once in awhile, right?” She used the nickname to mask the fact that she was asking him legitimately, how he really saw her. Charlie saw right through her mask, though, and knew it was a vulnerable moment for her.  She really did care about the way her family viewed her, he thought.

 

 

In all honesty, he had always known she had a soft spot for her family, but he didn’t realized how much she _longed_ for their approval, as well.  He needed to tread carefully.

 

 

“I’m sorry for misunderstanding you,” he shook his head bashfully, trying to convey his sincerity through his embarrassment. He had _known_ her long enough; he should have gotten that.

 

 

“You don’t have to apologize,” she softened, gently bumping her shoulder into his. “Anyway,” Meryl breathed into his ear, “no one could ever accuse you of going soft.”

 

 

“Meryl,” he frowned, “I said I’m sorry.”  He reached out to brush her cheek.

 

 

She swatted his hand away playfully, her eyes suddenly mischievous.  Her eyes diverted downward, narrowing in on the fact that he was still semi-hard.

 

_Oh,_ he thought, realizing suddenly what she had meant.  He looked up at her with an unbelieving glance.   _Did she still want to…?_

 

 

His thought was cut off by her small hand gently grasping him through his jeans.  Within a matter of seconds, he had sprung back to life.  It certainly didn’t take much, he thought.  

 

 

“Do you _always_ try to cover up sincere moments with sexual advances?” he tried to tease, but his voice came out as more of a breathy moan.

 

 

She grasped him a little more tightly, “Do you always call me getting you turned on a ‘sexual advance?’”

 

  
The way her eyebrow quirked with the question made him even harder. “Fuck, Meryl, this is torture.”

 

 

“Well then, you should let me relieve some of the pain,” Meryl grinned, her perfectly manicured nails resting on the zipper of his jeans.

 

 

“But Meryl, what if Clay…?” She cut him off mid-sentence by shifting up to kiss him, one hand grabbing the side of his face while the other hastily unfastened his pants.

 

 

Charlie couldn’t help the moan that slipped out.

 

 

“Shh,” Meryl pulled back to smile, biting her lip and using both hands to help Charlie shimmy his jeans down.

 

 

He couldn’t help but feel so much better already. But with the relief of pressure came the longing of a different sort.

 

 

“Meryl, you don’t have to.” He countered every indication his body was giving her.

 

 

She pressed a finger to his lips. “Charlie, when have you ever known me to do something I _don’t_ want to do?”

 

 

Meryl had a point.

 

 

His eyes squeezed shut, and she gently pushed him back so that his head was resting on the armrest of the couch, before crawling onto him, and grinding atop on his barely-covered center.

 

 

He could feel too much, even through her leggings and his boxer-briefs.

 

 

 _God bless leggings,_ he thought, almost deliriously.

 

  
Charlie had often debated the point that leggings weren’t really pants, but at that moment, he vowed to accept their validity for the rest of his days.

 

 

“Earth to Charlie,” Meryl purred against the side of his jaw, languidly kissing the spots she knew he liked.

 

 

“I’m here,” he whispered, finally moving his hands to grasp her hips and bring her even closer to him.

 

 

“I know you’re _there_ ,” she whispered back. “I was wondering where you were up _here_.” Meryl ran her fingers through his curls, and dove in for a chaste kiss. She meant it to be quick, but he dominated the kiss, drawing her in and making her want more.

 

 

She reached between them, pushing down the band of Charlie’s shorts and grasping his length firmly in her soft hand.

 

 

The groan he let out must have reverberated throughout the entire house.

 

 

“My brother’s still here, you know,” she laughed indulgently, shutting his moans up with her lips while she slowly and reverently explored each ridge and bump of Charlie’s length.

 

 

Charlie wanted to flip over and make her feel the same way that he did, but he still wasn’t even sure he could make a girl orgasm.

 

 

_Did people his age even still say that?  Orgasm?  Come?_

 

 

He hadn’t realized at first, but she had since stopped kissing him, and was now halfway down his body. When he glanced downward, he saw her face inches away from his stiff cock, still grasped around her tiny hand.    The sight of her licking her lips made him almost come.

 

 

“Charlie, can I?” she asked him, with such an earnest look on her face.

 

 

He couldn’t formulate words. All he could do was nod at her, trying not to look too eager, as she bent down, running her tongue along the underside of him.

 

 

Charlie covered his mouth with his arm to stifle the agonizing sounds that were seeping out of him. He couldn’t take his eyes off of her.

 

 

She held his gaze as she took him into her mouth for the first time, her tongue slowly toying with his head, while her hand pumped slowly at his base.

 

 

This was real life.  This was _real life_. _Holy shit._

 

 

He instantly understood everything he’d ever heard about how good getting a blowjob was. Charlie might have been square, but he did have _ears_. So maybe the only locker room he frequented was full of _figure skaters_ , but even figure skaters liked blowjobs.

 

 

He was thinking too much.

 

 

 

Charlie wondered if it was _normal_ to think about how pretty Meryl looked while his dick was shoved in her mouth.

 

 

_Probably not._

 

 

He touched her gently, his fingers brushing the top of her head, and she hummed in contentment, the vibrations going straight to his core. His eyes shot open, as he let out a deep breath.

 

 

Her mouth popped off of him noisily, “You like that, huh?”

 

 

“I like everything.” he melted. She moved up him quickly, placing a satisfied kiss to the side of his lips, but he pulled her in, kissing her full on the mouth.  She sat back slightly, looking at him with a measure of surprise..

 

 

“You don’t think it’s weird that I just kissed you after doing that?”

 

 

He hadn’t even thought about it. “No... why?”

 

 

She shook her head, “Oh - nothing, some guys just don’t like it when you do that.”

 

 

Charlie lifted her face so that her eyes met his. “Don’t look away, Mer. Why would I not want to kiss you? I’m not most guys, and you’re not just some random girl.”

 

 

“We made a pact, Charlie,” she reminded him in a clipped tone, before shimmying back down the couch and re-committing to working him over with an expert hand.

 

 

They _had_ made a pact, but Charlie didn’t want her to feel used.

 

 

He couldn’t continue if that was the way she felt. It wasn’t right.

 

 

“Hey, Meryl, hold on a second.”  He backed away and sat up, running his hands through the mass of disheveled curls on his head. He had started to sweat lightly, and they were a bit damp now. He wiped his hands on his shirt.

 

 

Meryl scooted back to the other side of the couch, looking dejected, her eyes reflecting trepidation. . He hadn’t seen her look like that since they were much younger, when they had first started skating together.

 

 

“I - I don’t want to use you,” he sputtered, not knowing how to voice the thoughts racing through his head.

 

 

“I know,” Meryl said, narrowing her eyes.  “Isn’t that what the pact was about, Charlie?”

 

 

“Yes. But … um, Meryl, I don’t want you because you’re just _anybody_. I want you because you’re _you_ ,” he tried to explain.

 

 

“Wait.  What do you mean?” Her words were cold, calculated.

 

 

“If just _anyone_ was here willing to do this with me, I wouldn’t-- I couldn’t…” he couldn’t find the right words to articulate what he wanted to tell her.

 

 

“I don’t understand,” she started nervously biting on one of her thumbnails.

 

 

“I want _you_ , Meryl. I want this with you,” he spoke honestly.

 

 

She pounced on him automatically.  Charlie felt his stomach flip over in surprise - or excitement; he wasn’t sure which.

 

 

“Fuck,” she cried out between kisses. “I want you _so bad_ , Charlie. I don’t know why, or what’s changed, or what’s going on, but I think about it all the time, now.  I think about you, all the time.”

 

 

“But the pact--” he interrupted her, echoing her words.

 

 

“We _have_ to keep the pact, Charlie. We can’t break it. You can’t question it.” Meryl spoke in short sentences while her kisses left him breathless and her hands fumbled to rid herself of her own clothing.

 

 

“Woah, hey, slow down, Mer. One step at a time,” he calmed her, placing unhurried kisses on her neck while slowly bringing her hands back up against his chest. “I’m not going anywhere, okay?”

 

 

“I know you won’t, Charlie,” Meryl replied, giving him a kiss that felt like she was trying to weave some sort of promise. She leaned in right against his ear and breathed, “But right now, I’m going to make you come harder than you ever have in your whole life.”

 

 

                                                                        -----

 

 

Sunday dinners between the Davis and White families were a time-honored tradition. They helped bond the families together, they helped strategize goals for the kids’ skating careers, and they now caused Charlie to have anxiety attacks.

  


Between the pointed glances from Clayton, and the way Charlie was squirming, sitting next to Cheryl Davis while on the same couch he’d _finished_ in her daughter’s mouth, Charlie believed he might have a spontaneous heart attack, right then and there.

 

 

Meryl hadn’t given him a second look that afternoon, and he was beginning to feel like he must be invisible. His weakness for her stood out like a blinking neon sign, and meanwhile, she was pretending like he didn’t even exist.    Not even Cheryl’s monster cookies could bring him out of his slump.

 

 

Had he done something wrong?  Why wasn’t she talking to him?  Was she upset with him about what he’d said the night before?

 

 

When had he become so _neurotic_?

 

 

Charlie had never understood how truly difficult it was to like someone. One one hand, Meryl could make him truly smile and laugh like no one else could. She understood his jokes, and she didn’t make fun of his odd habits and personality quirks. On the _other_ hand, as she sat there, refusing to  acknowledge him, he felt lower than anything else had ever made him feel. He was anxious to know where he had misstepped, or how he’d offended her.

 

 

Or maybe  he was just over-thinking things.

 

 

It wasn’t like Meryl was exactly _easy_ to understand. Meryl was guarded, and he had to always stay on his toes to read between the lines. Meryl was complex, and layered, and he didn’t know if he’d ever find a way to wiggle himself _fully_ into her life. But for now, he was happy being just a piece of it. He had already gone from being just a small piece to a much _larger_ piece, so shouldn’t he be happy with the way things were progressing?

 

 

He just wanted so much _more_.  The more he knew about her, the more she gave him, the more he wanted.

 

 

He stood by himself, propped up against the Davis’s kitchen island, half-heartedly listening to the conversation going on in the living room. The Moms were making final plans for their first competition of the year, as Charlie ran his hand distractedly over the smooth marble countertop.

 

 

“Penny for your thoughts?” Meryl snuck up behind him, wrapping her arms around his waist.

 

 

He gently covered her hands with his, and then spun around quickly to face her. Her face changed as soon as she saw his expression.

 

 

“What’s wrong, Charlie?” she questioned further, drawing him over to the breakfast nook; away from their parents’ prying ears.

 

 

“Nothing. Just thinking, I guess,” Charlie shrugged.

 

 

“Well, it must be something big. I haven’t seen you smile all day,” she bit her lip, trying to hide the fact that she’d just copped to secretly watching him the entire time she’d been there.

 

 

He reached out to stroke a thumb across the back of her hand, “I just … I mean.  Doesn’t this feel like _more_ to you?  More than just a pact?”

 

 

She backed away from him, severing the connection of their hands, as if she’d been burned.

 

 

She shook her head, “Please don’t do this, Charlie.”

 

 

“Why is it so wrong to point out that both of us have actual _feelings?_ ” he implored, trying to close the space between him.

 

 

“We don’t have _feelings_ for each other, Charlie. This is just _comfortable_ ,” Meryl denied him, raising her hands up in protest.

 

 

“Meryl,” Charlie cut in, shaking his head. “You always want to help me when something’s wrong. You go out of your way to make plans with me or to rearrange my schedule, you said that you think about us _all the time_ ,” he rattled off, his thoughts sounding far more put together than he had expected. His eyes were trained at a random spot on the floor, too afraid to look at her and say everything, but he knew she would feel the impact of his words.

 

 

She was withdrawing into herself in front of him; he could feel it.  Even her body language spoke to this. Her arms were folded across her chest, and her eyes darted nervously around the room.

 

 

“Hey, kids.  Is something wrong?” Cheryl Davis asked, coming in to fetch something from the kitchen.

 

 

“No, Mom,” Meryl grumbled, rolling her eyes in mock protest. “Charlie and I were just debating how we feel about a certain chunk of free dance choreography.”

 

 

“Well, you know what we’ve said, respect goes a long way. You two should go somewhere and have an _adult_ discussion about this,” Cheryl offered.

 

 

Charlie rolled his eyes, as if _that_ was going to happen.

 

 

“Or - if you need to step away from the situation for awhile to let your thoughts settle out, maybe that’s best,” Cheryl continued her advice.

 

 

“I think that sounds _like a great idea_ ,” Meryl spoke condescendingly, backing away from Charlie before he had the chance to say another word. Cheryl frowned at her daughter’s tone, but enfolded her in a hug, leading her back out to the living room.

 

 

Charlie was left behind with more confusion than he knew how to fathom.

 

 

                                                                        ----

 

 

Charlie’s feet dangled in the cool water as he sat on the edge of the dock at the far end of the Davis’s backyard, watching the sun slowly starting to set. He had yet to rejoin the Davis and White clans, his ego bruised and his heart hurting.

 

 

He should have known she would turn him down. He should have known she would run.  He should have just kept his mouth shut.

 

 

Charlie now believed he had read the situation all wrong, and that Meryl couldn’t _possibly_ reciprocate the depth of feeling he had for her.

 

 

 _Idiot_.

 

 

“She likes you, you know,” Clay Davis called out, loudly popping a bubble between his teeth as he shuffled down the length of the dock..

 

 

“You’re wrong,” Charlie replied, not even looking back to acknowledge him.

 

 

“You think I don’t know anything just because I’m _young_ ,” Clay flopped down beside Charlie, his bare feet noisily connecting with the water. “But Meryl and I are close. We tell each other stuff.”

 

 

Charlie’s eyebrow quirked. Surely she hadn’t told Clay about their _agreement_.

 

 

“Listen.  Don’t think I’m naive as to what my sister is up to. I know the kind of person she is when she’s not at home, but I also know who she really _is_.  She’s not as tough as she likes to pretend she is,” Clay sighed, rolling his eyes.

 

 

“I know that,” Charlie agreed, crossing his arms across his chest.   _Tell me something I don’t know,_ he thought petulantly.

 

 

“She told me that she’s confused about you. I thought it was just figure skating stuff at first, like maybe she was having some partner problems, or something weird like that, but I don’t think that’s what it is.”

 

 

Charlie looked over in interest.  Meryl had actually talked to Clay about him?

 

 

Clay continued, unbidden:  “Her head’s been off in space all the time lately, and she gets all weird every time Mom or Dad brings up your name.  And then I see the stupid little smiles she gets, when you’re on the phone, or when you’re here.” Clay groaned. “Y’know, it’s kinda weird to talk about feelings like this with another dude.  Especially when it’s about your own sister.”

 

 

Charlie laughed full and whole-hearted, “Yeah, it’s a little different, isn’t it?”

 

 

“This could totally mess up your skating stuff, though, if you guys start dating. It’s probably why she’s so confused.  And scared. She _loves_ skating, man. More than anything else.”

 

 

Charlie nodded slowly.  It made sense. He didn’t want to lose their on-ice partnership, either.  He was pretty sure skating was just as important to him as it was to her.

 

 

But how could he ignore all of these emotions he had when she was around? Could Charlie compartmentalize his feelings, and only see Meryl in a business sense?

 

 

Maybe it was the only way they could keep being partners.  

 

 

“Don’t give up on her, Charlie. She _needs_ you.” Clay moved to get up and leave. “Oh, but if you break my sister, I break your face.”

 

 

The kid was young, and small, but Charlie didn’t hesitate to believe him. Davis family loyalty was indelible. “Thanks for the pep talk, buddy,” Charlie called out to Clay as he made his way across the backyard.

 

 

“Don’t get used to it, White,” Clay grinned, calling back to him.

 

 

Charlie laid back against the dock, looking up at the colors that were dancing across the sky.

 

 

Why was he trying to run before he could walk? He barely understood girls at _all_ , and already he wanted to dash into a relationship with the most important girl of all?

 

 

“Hey, doofus.  Are you dead?” Meryl’s voice brought him out of his musing, and he sat up quickly.

 

 

He didn’t say anything.

 

 

She snorted, her sandals clacking across the loose boards of the dock as she made her way towards him.  “Guess not, since you moved,” she sat down at the edge, legs criss-crossed beside him.

 

 

“I thought you weren’t talking to me,” he shot her a pointed look.

 

 

“I’m _not_ , but that doesn’t stop me from doing this,” she leaned over and brushed their lips together.

 

 

He couldn’t help the small grin that spread across his face, “Well, I guess not,” he murmured wryly.

 

 

It wasn’t an apology, or a solution, but at least it was _something_.  And something was better than nothing.  It was better trying to get everything, at the risk of losing it all.

 

 

She took his chin in her delicate fingers and brought his face closer to hers, pulling him in for a much more satisfying, lingering kiss.

 

 

“Can we just forget about what I said, today?” Charlie asked quietly, hopeful they could move past this slight bump in the road.

 

 

“Hmm.  I know a way or two you might be able to get me to forget,” she wiggled her eyebrows at him, getting up and practically dragging him down the dock, and towards the boathouse.

 

 

This was typical Meryl Davis avoidance, he knew, but Charlie couldn’t help but _want_ to forget about how emotionally trying the day had been.

 

 

Meryl Davis was his drug, and he was definitely addicted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you liked this chapter, please take the time and leave a comment! They really do make my day, and I appreciate them so much.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, it's me! That one girl who only updates every couple of months... Sorry about that. I am going to do a MUCH better job from now on! I hope you enjoy this chapter-- and if you do, make sure to tell me in the comments! <3

His fingers fumbled as he searched to find the small pearl-shaped buttons that ran up the length of her spine. There had never been another garment so painstakingly fashioned to keep him from his prize. Each expanse of skin felt like a new mystery as he rediscovered her inch by inch, time and time again. He wanted to memorize the feel of her as he whispered promises of a future against her skin.

 

“Charlie, it’s too close to competition - we can’t--” she pleaded half-heartedly, voice echoing too loudly off the concrete blocks of the locker room.

 

“ _Please_ , Meryl,” he bit out, ghosting his lips down her jaw and latching his mouth onto the delicate skin of her neck.

 

“No, we can’t do this right now,” Meryl pushed him back, kicking herself off of a locker for leverage. “I want this season to _mean_ something,” she gritted.

 

He knew it was fruitless to fight her on this one; he wanted to win too.

 

“So... we’re back to where we were before, then?” he snorted, dryly, staring at her with cold, unfocused eyes.

 

  
He saw her shiver. “Exactly like before,” she countered, matching his gaze. He watched as she picked up her bag and phone, gingerly refastening the buttons he’d managed to undo. “I’ll see you tomorrow for tutoring?”

 

Charlie hesitated, not knowing what to do.

 

He was tired of being stepped on. He was tired of feeling like a toy. He was tired of being turned off and on at a moment’s notice, with no say as to when or where or how.

 

“I have plans,” he frowned, turning his back to her as he picked up his things. “I’ll see you on Sunday, to work out.”

 

He swiveled around, balancing his bag on one shoulder. Meryl opened her mouth like she wanted to say something, but closed it in an instant. “Maybe, if I’m not too hungover,” she finally snapped as she brushed past him, slamming the door shut as she left.

 

Charlie wasn’t completely _naive_. He knew what a defense mechanism was, and he wasn’t  surprised that Meryl would throw something like that in his face just to hurt him… but he still couldn’t help but feel concerned.

 

How were they supposed to be a team, if all they could manage to effectively do these days was fight and make out?

 

How could she trust him with her _life_ on the ice, but be so unwilling to do so on solid ground?

 

How could she delegate her feelings into quadrants and not see the infinite possibilities between 0 and 1?

 

Meryl wasn’t that great at math, but Charlie knew she could understand that what she was doing to them wasn’t adding up to success.

 

Meryl wasn’t perfect, but that didn’t make him want her any less.

 

He still wanted the girl who had refused to look in his eyes, even when Seth had all but begged her to do so. He wanted the girl who became so helplessly lost, that she took on a persona just to make herself feel like she was _something_. He wanted the girl whose eyes would light up  with passion and determination as they would try a new lift out on the ice for the first time. He wanted the girl who opened up like a flower around her family: smiling and laughing carefree. He wanted the pushy, needy, breathless, boundless, beautiful girl he had come to know over the last few weeks.

 

So what in the world was Charlie doing _wrong_?

 

He rested his forehead against her locker.

 

Charlie didn’t hear Meryl as she snuck back in. She rested her forehead against his back, a hand running soothingly from his shoulder to his wrist. “I’m sorry,” she seemed to choke on the words.

 

She was being real with him, she was letting him in.

 

It was the first time Charlie felt like maybe he was her _friend_. And not just friend in the way that they hung out on occasion, but friend in the way that he wanted to share all of his secrets with her. He wanted to share his heart with her, and let her keep it for safeguarding.

 

“I am, too,” he sighed, allowing the tension in his shoulders to abate.

 

“I just -” she hesitated, “think that we should focus on our skating for now, until we see how this next weekend goes. Our programs are getting better, and ice dance has to come first,” she wrapped her small arms around his middle and burrowed as far into his back as she possibly could. He felt as though she was trying to hold onto something with all her might, but she had to know - she had to understand - he wasn’t going anywhere.

 

“Meryl, I’m not going anywhere,” Charlie comfortingly grasped her arms as they held onto him tightly.

 

“I didn’t say-”

 

He cut her off by turning around and lifting her chin up so that their eyes met. He felt like he was peering into her soul, seeing the torrent of emotions swirling inside of her.

 

She nodded at him, pressing her lips into a tight smile. “Thank you for understanding.”

 

“But, I didn’t-” he started to counter, as she cut him off with an ear-splitting grin.

 

“Charlie,” she said, still grinning. ”Did we just have a conversation without words?” her smile grew even wider, somehow.

 

He looked at her, unbelievably astonished, “I think we did.”

 

She let out a breath.  “You _knew_ I was afraid you’d walk away, because I’m so difficult, and then _I_ knew that you weren’t going anywhere... but, how in the world did we _do_ that?” she spoke quickly, searching his face for some sort of answer.

 

“Magic?” he teased, trying to lighten the mood. He didn’t want to scare her off by pointing out what a monumental shift had just happened in their relationship.

 

“All right - stop using your devil voodoo on me,” she swatted at his hands, backing away, but never losing the genuine smile that reached all the way to her eyes.

 

“You know, now that I think about it, I guess my WoW binge _could_ wait until after our workout Sunday. I can come over tomorrow and help you with French, if you still want.”  He casually walked past her, opening the door of the locker room so she could walk through ahead of him.

 

Meryl knocked her shoulder into his as they walked down the long hallway to the main entrance of the rink, “Yeah, that’d be great. I have to finish a paper on _Les Mis_ before we leave on Wednesday.”

 

“Oh man,” Charlie grumbled. “You know I hate _Les Mis_. Remember that one year at Lake Placid when every-other pair skated to _I Dreamed a Dream_?”

 

“Ha,” Meryl scoffed.  “Remember when your mom got that _stellar_ video of you belting it out in the shower?” Meryl reached for the handle of the front door, holding it open for Charlie. He rolled his eyes at her before exiting. She ran up behind him, belting in her most convincing baritone, “ _But the tigers come at nighttttt, with their voices soft as thunderrrrrr!_ ”

 

Meryl cracked herself up, and he kicked some gravel from the parking lot in her direction. “It was not nice of her to be waiting outside the bathroom door,” he frowned, his face blooming bright red.

 

“Did I ever tell you how many times I rewatched that stupid VHS tape? That was the _best_ Christmas gift Jacqui’s ever given me,” she stuck her tongue between her teeth, chuckling under her breath.

 

“She _did not_ ,” Charlie gritted.

 

“Oh you bet Javert’s _Stars_ she did!” Meryl skipped away, leaving Charlie slightly amused but mostly bewildered, as he stood alone in the Arctic Edge parking lot.

 

\-----

 

Every time they failed to medal, Meryl looked disappointed. Still, it was their first major Junior Grand Prix event, and they’d managed to get through it without any major falls or flubs. Japan had been fun to tour, and the fans at the rink had been the loudest Charlie had ever witnessed at a junior event.

 

Charlie saw the positives in the experience. Pewter wasn’t _last_.

 

He took the lack of serious hardware as motivation. If they could maintain their steady rise, year by year, someday they could perhaps medal at a Grand Prix.

 

Charlie’s secret goal was to make the Olympic team one day.

 

Charlie was in it for the long haul, his main goal to improve year by year. Meryl, on the other hand, wanted concrete _results_.

 

“Why are you so attached to the idea of _winning_?” Charlie whispered to her, as they sat in the quiet hallway of their hotel.

 

“A medal _means_ something, Charlie. A medal shows that we’re doing a good job,” Meryl replied, resolutely.

 

Charlie shifted, trying to adjust to the hard floor underneath him and the equally hard wall behind his back. He mulled over what she said.  It wasn’t as though it didn’t make sense, but it just didn’t matter as much to him. “As long as we’re making quantifiable progress, why do we have to get a medal every single time? It’s logical that other teams who’ve been competing in Grand Prix events longer would make the podium.”

 

She smirked, “Ever the statesman, Chuck.”

 

“I think we’re getting really good, Meryl. I think next year we can make that podium. Slow and steady, that’s all,” he wanted to reach out and touch her hand, but they had done a great job of holding the delicate balance of friendship over the last week. He didn’t want her to pull away from his touch; it would bruise his ego too badly.

 

It wasn’t as if he didn’t want her in _that_ way anymore, but he was also enjoying the added depth of their relationship as well.

 

Meryl looked over at him and spoke quietly, “I wanted to get you a medal for your birthday.”

 

 _How silly_ , Charlie thought. But also, _how kind_. Very few people in the world would look at Meryl Davis and see kindness, but he did. He _absolutely_ did.

 

To be honest, Charlie hadn’t thought much about his birthday. They’d barely be home, and guaranteed to be jet lagged, and other than secretly hoping his mom made him a cake he could devour all on his own, he hadn’t wished or wanted anything for the celebration.

 

“With all of the hubbub surrounding us coming to Japan, I wasn’t sure anyone had even remembered my birthday,” he shrugged.

 

“Of _course_ I remembered,” Meryl bounced in place. “How could I forget? It comes around once a year, you know.”

 

“Well, Meryl Davis, we may make an _academic_ of you yet,” he teased, trying not to stare at her lips while her face lit up in excitement.

 

It had been so long since he had tasted her. Almost one full week.

 

“Charlie…” she brought him back, suggestively biting her lip, forcing him to stop staring at her mouth.

 

He made himself gaze at the wall across from them. He could get himself in check, he _could_. Charlie was not a slave to his hormones.

 

But he was a slave to his feelings for Meryl Davis.

 

She jumped up and reached out a hand to help him, “C’mon.  Lets go get some snacks from the vending machine and watch terrible Japanese TV.”

 

He accepted her hand, following her down the hall as she laughed and cackled, no doubt disturbing the rest of the hotel’s guests. “Meryl,” he tried to shush her at first, but soon found himself joining in with her infectious laughter.

 

He could get used to her like this.

 

Charlie had never felt so alive.

**  
  
**

 

\-----

**  
  
**

 

“What are these things even called?” Meryl lay on the floor, tossing vibrantly-wrapped Japanese candy in the air.

 

Charlie sat at the desk in the hotel room, trying futilely to complete proofs for his Geometry class. “Do I look like someone who can read Japanese?”

 

To be honest, he had tried learning _once_ , but he didn’t have the knack for languages that Meryl did. She had no idea what she could accomplish if she actually _applied_ herself.

 

Meryl took in his appearance, glasses slid half down his nose as he hunched over his book. “Do you really want me to answer that?” she smirked.

 

“You know, you’re not a very nice person,” he pushed his glasses back up the bridge of his nose and reclined back in his chair.

 

“I feel like you say that to me quite a bit,” she smirked, tossing the candy at his head.

 

He dodged just in time, the candy smacking the wall instead. He picked it up off the ground, “Sounds like chocolate.” Charlie opened the wrapper, “Definitely chocolate,” he popped it in his mouth.

 

“Aw, c’mon, those are my favorites!” Meryl huffed, pushing herself up off the floor. “Oh my God, I have the _best_  idea!” she rushed over to Charlie’s suitcase and began tearing through it.

 

“What in the world are you doing? I already rolled all of those!” he cried in desperation as he watched his obsessive compulsively-packed suitcase’s contents be flung across the room.

 

_What was she looking for?_

 

“Aha!” she cried, pulling their pewter-colored plates out of the bottom of his suitcase.

 

“What are you going to do with that?” he jumped up, afraid she was about to begin a round of Ultimate Frisbee with his hard-earned hunk of pewter.

 

“Toss me the rest of the candy!” she crawled across the room, picking up the candy she’d flung around during her unpacking process.

 

He obliged, grabbing his pile off the desk and handing it to her.

 

She gathered it all, placing it in their fourth-place dish. “Voila!” she raised it up in the air. “A perfect Japanese candy dish!”

 

He looked at her, then the mess she’d catapulted around the room. Charlie couldn’t help flopping down on the floor in laughter.

 

“Would you care for a refreshment, Charles?” Meryl offered in her best British accent.

 

“Why I do believe I would,” he reached for the dish.

 

She tugged it back, “Why does your British accent sound Southern?”

 

“That was spot on!” he fought back, reaching for her middle and tugging her towards him on the floor.

 

She struggled to shove him off as his fingers caught the sensitive flesh of her stomach. “Charles! Charles, no!” she screeched, caught between laughter and protest.

 

Charlie loved when it was _easy_ like this. When it was normal, and comfortable, and just as it should be.

 

As soon as he had pulled her close to him, he snatched the candy dish out of her hands, popping a few of the chewy ones in his mouth.

 

Meryl feigned a sour expression.

 

“You’re gon’ clean this up, right?” he smiled in response, mouth full of candy.

 

\-----

 

Charlie had heard about jet lag, he had even felt it in small doses himself, but it was his birthday and he could  barely find it within himself to rise from bed. As soon as they had made it home, he only _just_ found the strength to peel himself out of the passenger’s seat of Jacqui’s mom-mobile and trudge up the stairs to his bedroom.

 

  
Falling face first into his pillows, it had taken him a few minutes to even work up the determination to remove his shoes and jacket.

 

He wanted a full shower, a large and greasy meal, and to somehow have both at the exact same time without moving from his current position.

 

“Charlie?” his mother’s voice rang up the stairs, and he lifted his head to mumble a response. “Charlie, did you order a pizza?”

 

He used his tired biceps to push off the bed. “Pizza?” he flung the door open and haphazardly made his way down the stairs.

 

Charlie fumbled down the last three steps, ending up flat on his backside in the entryway.

 

The pizza guy at least _tried_ to stifle his laugh, while Jacqui just let hers go.

 

_How embarrassing._

 

The delivery man was able to choke down his laughter, “Uhm, like I was saying, ma’am, the pizza is already paid for, and it says here it’s for ‘Chuckles.’ Am I correct in thinking this could be him?”

 

Charlie got up off the ground, stretching his sore muscles and trying to smile through his grimace.

__

 

_Who would have sent him sent a pizza, addressed to Chuckles?_

__

 

_Oh well, free pizza!_

 

“Charlie?” Jacqui questioned, still looking hesitantly between the pizza guy and her son.

 

“I didn’t order a pizza, but if it’s paid for and it’s for me, can I have it?” Charlie asked.

 

“Well... I guess so?” Jacqui looked from Charlie to the pizza guy who shrugged and handed the pizza to her.

 

“Thank you,” Charlie grinned, grabbing the pizza from his mom and running back up the stairs, managing to land his foot on every step the second time.

 

When he reached his room he flopped down on his bed, pizza in his lap. The delicious scent of pepperoni wafted out of the box, causing his level of giddiness to skyrocket. He opened the box and immediately knew who was behind the surprise.

 

Spelled out in pepperonis was one word: _gold_.

 

She had gotten him a medal. A cheesy, greasy, delicious medal.

 

Before he ruined the masterpiece by eating it, he grabbed his phone to thank her.

 

He already had one missed message from her.

 

**Meryl: Told you I’d get you a medal for your birthday.**

**  
  
**

 

\-----

**  
  
**

 

Charlie hadn’t thought a pepperoni pizza could spell out a truly romantic gesture, but after three pieces, he was pretty sure he was in love. Tossing the pizza box on the floor, he wiped his dirty hands on his t-shirt, and lay back into his pillows.

 

_This was the life._

__

 

“Knock knock,” her sing-song voice flitted into the room and he fumbled with his shirt, trying to pull it over his head.

 

She would find a way to walk in right at that moment. Why couldn’t she ever walk in when he was put together, poised, and looking like a Greek God?

 

Charlie would settle for at _least_ the Statue of David.

 

“Wow Chuck, I didn’t know you missed me that much,” she laughed, kicking aside the pizza box and her shoes, and hopping next to him on the bed.

 

Charlie wrestled to get his head out of the hole and toss the shirt across the room. He looked at her with disorderly hair and bashful eyes, “Sorry - I, uh, used it as a napkin.”

 

She giggled, “You look like such a sad puppy right now. So, you liked my present?” Meryl burrowed herself down into the pillows, looking content as could be.

 

His breath always hitched a bit, seeing her laid out on his bed like she belonged there.

 

She _did_.

 

“That was the tastiest medal I’ve ever had,” he grinned, laying down and turning on his side to face her.

 

“A bite of an Olympic gold would taste even better,” she bit her lip.

 

  
“Well then, someday I want one of those for my birthday!” Charlie grabbed her and pulled her close.

 

“But your birthday’s in the fall…” Meryl toyed with one of his curls, wrapping it around her finger. “There’s no such thing as the _fall_ Olympics.”

 

“Technicalities, Meryl. Technicalities.”

 

She burrowed into his chest for a moment before shrinking away with a disgusted look on her face, “Charles, I hate to mention it, but you kinda stink.”

 

“Oh yeah, I was meaning to take a shower…” he scooted further away from her in the bed, trying to mask the scent with distance.

 

“I’ve got a better idea,” she waggled her eyebrows at him before jumping off the bed and ripping off her clothes.

 

“Not that I don’t appreciate the view, but _what_ are you doing?” he sat up and scooted to the edge of the bed.

 

“Birthday shower?” she smirked, grabbing the back of his neck and pulling him to his feet. Their lips crashed together, and he never wanted to go so long without kissing her again.

 

“Best birthday ever,” he smiled between kisses, as she backed him up into the door.

 

“You’re still overdressed,” Meryl pulled at the band of his sweatpants, toying with the hair just below his bellybutton.

 

“Are you really going to shower with me?” he gasped, against her jaw.

 

“What else am I going to do with you naked, while you reek of plane and travel and gross?” she teased.

 

“What exactly does _gross_ smell like?” he wrapped his arms around her.

 

“Like too much AXE bodyspray trying to cover up a day’s worth of travel,” she scrunched up her nose.

 

“Yeah, I guess we’ll go with a shower then,” Charlie smirked, picking her up and carrying her bridal style into his bathroom.


End file.
